If You Let Me
by Byoshi
Summary: DISCONTINUED: MewtwoxPeach, GanondorfxPeach: Every Pokemon Smasher must have a master, and the rule is no different for Mewtwo. A tug-of-war begins between Peach and Ganondorf, conflicted but united in their attempt to use Mewtwo to overthrow Master Hand.
1. Peach: In which I meet him

**A/N: Here it is, the fic I've been dreading to put up and have been hemming and hawing over. I've adopted a different style because of the nature of the fic, and the fact that it is centralised around Mewtwo, and a character as deep as him is good for first person styles.**

**Anyways, as a warning, this is a PokemonxHuman fic, albeit a mild one. If a story of Mewtwo finally getting a bit of appreciation and love isn't your cup of tea, please don't read. Otherwise, enjoy!**

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**I F ****Y O U **

**L E T ****M E**

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o-o-**P E A C H**-o-o

He is a perfect cross between beautiful and ugly. Sat there on the floor, fidgeting like a lost child, he is deformed in every way. His hands look like they can barely function, with little gripping power and only three digits to one. Head too big for his neck, it has to be supported by a tube protruding from his head into his back. The long, powerful tail - almost reptilian in its movement - only serves as a nuisance. With it, he cannot sit properly.

Yet he is beautiful. I can see it. His eyes are huge and a vibrant purple; no matter how tired he is, his head is kept high. A chestplate adorns his front. Bony, yes, but sculpted in such a way that he looks very nearly human. And while he isn't a human, his elegant way of communicating and exceptional intelligence can quite easily rival ours. When he speaks, he does so telepathically; it sounds like he is right next to you, even when he is across from the room.

It's a deep and throaty voice. It resounds over the cosy office that is the Master Hand's before echoing close to my ear. His story is dark and disturbing. Something I cannot comprehend to.

I am the Director of the Smash Board: Princess Peach Toadstool. Here with Toadsworth, the Board's advisor, and Mansion owner Master Hand, I am attending the last of applications for Smash Mansion.

Mewtwo was a last minute applicant. He signed up just when we were about to end recruitment. In our meeting today, he had brought in with him no written details of his background. Instead, he tells us he wants to explain everything himself.

I listen, and so does Toadsworth and the Master Hand. Before Mewtwo can even finish though, I accidentally let my emotions get the better of me and I cry. Quietly. Toadsworth looks a little embarrassed, and Mewtwo gives me a curious glance. The Master Hand doesn't even notice.

"We have a rule for Pokemon," says the Master Hand. He has drawn himself up to his full height and is apparently unaffected by Mewtwo's background. "All Pokemon Smashers must be owned. You fit all other requirements, but without a master, I cannot let you in. Wild Pokemon are out of the question."

I try to concentrate, but my mind is reeling with a cycle of words.

_Experiment. Scientists. Created. Monster. _

How can I _not_ cry?

"_Do you not understand?_" Mewtwo replies to the Master Hand.

The Master Hand doesn't understand, but I do. I know that Mewtwo is not the sort of Pokemon who wants a master. It would be an insult to him. Having suffered enough at the hands of humans, he comes here for refuge. Forcing him to be owned is an insult. It's wrong.

I want to say this out loud, but I am silenced by the promise I made to Toadsworth. Before I became a Director, he warned me. He had told me that in this Mansion, it was necessary to think with my head and not my heart. If I couldn't do this, I should not take up the position.

And I promised him I would.

My head tells me Mewtwo needs a master. Someone to take responsibility for him and ensure he doesn't leave or do things of his own accord. Pokemon work well with humans. A master can teach Mewtwo that.

But my heart is beginning to rip itself. I cannot let something so cruel happen; his perception of humans would worsen. If I were to let him live life like a prisoner, I am no better than the monsters who hurt him.

"Think of it this way, Mewtwo." The Master Hand's voice is always patronising. He uses that voice on me too; by now, I'm used to it. "You are running from the prospect of being taken in by..."

A pause as he eyes his notes. "...Giovanni Sakaki. You come here to compete as a Smasher. If you are willing to have a master, I can let you in. Let me remind you, Mewtwo, that if you have a master, Giovanni cannot own you or take you as his property. You will be under full protection in this Mansion. Surely that's what you want?"

I do not like the Master Hand's words. He's too manipulative; there are better ways to go about convincing someone to change.

For a few seconds, the light of the fire catches my attention. There are no flames, just the orange glow of the coal. Perhaps I am staring at it for too long. My eyes begin to water again and I feel a pulling sensation in my stomach. Toadsworth notices my discomfort; I think it's only him who does.

I don't want to see this Pokemon get hurt again.

But I must think with my head.

"This is a Master Ball," says the Master Hand. "It's not named after me though!"

He laughs a little at this joke, but only Toadsworth cracks a forced smile. I don't find the situation humorous at all. I know what a Master Ball does. If Mewtwo is aware of that Ball, he should be making his exit now. He sits there, still as ever. I almost want to push him out of the way. Shall I?

"We reserve it for wild Pokemon who apply." The Master Hand is still patronising in his tone. "It's a no-fail capture ball. We will give it to your new master. Then you can compete. You want to compete, don't you?"

"_Yes_."

"You meet all other requirements? Health, fitness, fighting skills..."

"..._Yes_."

"Then you could do with a master to meet the criteria?"

"..._Yes._"

My head jerks up, and I blink away those meaningless tears. On the brink of despair and desperation, he agrees to what he truly doesn't want. I am near certain the Pokemon is wary of humans. Now he is at a point where he is so broken, he has lost all hope to even fight.

My feet are led by my heart, and I am suddenly at his side. Toadsworth utters, "Your Highness, please!" as though he thinks I am risking myself. Maybe I am, but it's my turn to ask the questions now.

"...How old are you, Mewtwo?"

It catches him by surprise. I can tell because his eyes do not look so hardened anymore.

"_Three_."

He is a bit hesitant in his reply; I think it's because he cannot work out why I am asking. It's very simple though. I acted on my heart and sought to try and make him comfortable. If he can converse, why are we not having a pleasant talk with him?

The Master Hand is not best pleased with me. Losing the business-like approach isn't what he wants.

"Do you agree to be caught then, Mewtwo?" asks the Master Hand, resuming the interview. I cut across him.

"My name is Peach. I'm the Director of this place. Are you looking forward to joining the tourna--"

"Do you agree to a master?" demands the Master Hand, raising his voice so that it is heard over mine. Now that I am next to Mewtwo, the desperation is as clear as ever. His shoulders are slightly hunched over, and his breathing is laboured. The tail is unmoving; rigid, even.

He's three. He doesn't look it, but he's _three_. Of course he's lost and confused.

"Do you, Mewtwo?"

If the Master Hand could smile, I know he'd be doing it now. There's a cruel side to him that he often reveals by accident. After all, only someone cruel and ruthless in his ambitions could design and create a Mansion not only dedicated to fighting, but fuelling intergalactic spats.

I'm just the Director. I keep the sponsors happy and make sure all the Smashers are doing okay. The Master Hand runs this place; he owns _everyone _here.

"Does he need one?" The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them.

"...Peach." Toadsworth addresses me tentatively, and I know he's serious because my title's missing. "Please respect the Master Hand's decision..."

I know that the Master Hand is going to use this opportunity to play tricks and torment for his own pleasure. Young Link, I recall, wanted Pichu as his own. But that Pokemon already had her own master; what if the Master Hand gave Young Link Mewtwo instead?

If I could find someone who would not abuse this position of power or damage him further. If I could find someone like that, then I would have acted on my head but dealt with it with my heart. Someone. I need someone...

"I'll do it."

It makes sense to me, but Toadsworth's flabbergasted look is enough to confirm that I stand alone here.

"Y-Your Highness! He's a dangerous creature, you've seen all our notes on him. If your father finds out I've let you--"

"Toadsworth is right, Peach. Danger is in his nature." The Master Hand speaks casually, as if he isn't concerned at all.

But the Master Ball is in my hand now, and no one is trying to take it from me. Mewtwo doesn't protest - he is stone still, however his eyes have locked onto mine. I hold out the Ball loosely, deliberately having it within his reach, so that if he does object, he can knock it away.

He doesn't. I claim him before I realise I've done so.

"Your property then," says the Master Hand matter-of-factly. I wonder if he was expecting me to claim him and was deliberately acting like that to spur me on. In all honesty, he is a hard one to figure out.

The Master Ball is secure in both my hands, and I feel a strange surge of triumph against the Master Hand, even if it will be a short lived one. The Ball doesn't feel any heavier with Mewtwo in it. It's all a bit strange.

"We will include Mewtwo in this week's Smash matches then," says the Master Hand. "Peach, it is your duty as his Pokemon trainer to keep a sharp eye on him. Any misbehaviour will result in his removal from tourna--"

He can compete. I'm allowed to be his master. That's all I need to know.

Toadsworth follows me out of the office and he engages me in his usual sleep-inducing lecture.

"Your Highness, what do you suppose I tell your father? That you've claimed a psychotic, crazed Pokemon who could potentially kill you? I understand you're a compassionate lady, but Peach dear...this is a bit too much. For 25 years I have looked after you and you have never been so reckless..."

I only half-listen. The embossed 'M' on my new Master Ball is captivating. It shines in the dimly lit corridor as I hold it. Toadsworth gives it a reproving and disappointed look, but I have the feeling it's directed more at me.

It wouldn't be the first time I've let my family down after all.

My father still hasn't forgiven me.

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**E N D **

**P E A C H**

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**A/N: This is very different from my other fics...I also get depressed writing about it :( but I like to think this is my contribution to the Mewtwo fanbase. The poor guy takes loads of beatings because he was useless in Melee, but to me and hopefully many others, he's still the greatest Pokemon antagonist. No one - especially from 4th generation - can replace that.**

**Anyhoo, some notes on this chapter. I decided on Mewtwo's age from when he escaped his tank as opposed to when he was created. Being chucked in a tank isn't really living, so I don't think it should add to his age. Secondly, Peach is Director. She always will be in my fics. She's not stupid or brainless; she has far more depth than that.**

**And thirdly, you'll notice this chapter is narrated by Peach. Next chapter is Mewtwo's turn to narrate. Also, the Master Hand is the antagonist, just like he is in Perfect. A giant hand who picks on trophies/Smashers, tries to crush or poke them to death and has a psychotic laugh doesn't come across as nice to me. **

**Please please review if you have any thoughts on this fic - I would really appreciate your thoughts!! Thanks for reading!**


	2. Mewtwo: In which I hate her

**A/N: Today we have Mewtwo's debut chapter! Surprisingly easy to write in comparison to Peach's. Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Hope you enjoy this instalment :D**

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**I F ****Y O U **

**L E T ****M E**

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o-o-**M E W T W O**-o-o

She is what humans call 'attractive' but to me, she is one of the most loathsome _things_ I have ever come across. She's dependent, spoilt and too idealistic; her falsely-pleasant voice makes me want to rip off my ears. Her eyes are too emotional, too pleading. Whenever she looks at me, I wish she wouldn't.

Since claiming me, she hasn't let me back out of the Master Ball. She probably doesn't know how to work it. 

Time in a Ball is similar to time asleep. You think hours may have passed, but it has only been a few minutes. You believe you had your eyes shut for a second; really, it has been days.

Life in a Ball is similar to life in a womb. Not that I'd know, but it certainly feels that way. It's dark and cramped; sounds of the outside are muffled and distant. You have no control over when you can come out. You are just waiting. 

She finally releases me from the blackness of that world, and I'm pulled by my stomach out of the Ball.

My memory fails me. I cannot remember her name. 

Even when I look at her now, I cannot remember. It's not relevant anyway.

We are in a courtyard. Judging by the sun, I would say half an hour or so has passed. She stands opposite me, rather close. To a passerby, it looks like we are having a friendly conversation.

I admit I am impressed with her courage, bringing me out in such close proximity to her. Perhaps she is unaware that any Poke Ball, when thrown, automatically opens. Stood within my arm's reach, I could have psychically got hold of her mind by now and pushed her resistance to pain beyond its limits. Not that my mind games are restricted by distance; they're just more tempting the closer the victim.

I can pick up on fear, but there's none of it from her. There's no pounding heart, drying throat or dilating pupils. She actually isn't afraid. I cannot decide if that's admirable or foolish.

"I finally got Toadsworth off my back. He makes it his job to give me at least one lecture a day. Usually about the same thing."

Peach. That was it. That's her name.

It's even worse than mine. I recall a peach is a stone fruit. Unlucky.

For a moment, she looks like she's battling conflicting emotions, but not long after, she does something odd. She rolls the Master Ball across the ground and it comes to a halt between my feet. 

"Take it," she says. "I will never lock you away in it."

She enunciates her words clearly and slowly, as if I have little intelligence and am hard of hearing. I'm rather insulted, to be honest.

Very clever though, how she uses the Master Ball to signify some trust. 

It's clear what message she is trying to get across to me: _Hi! I'm your new master! Here's the Master Ball. I'm going to give it to you so you don't have to fear being locked away, and it looks like I care. Really though, you're bound by the rules of Pokemon ownership to do as I say, regardless of where that Ball is! So it doesn't matter whose hand the Ball is in,at the end of the day I'm still winning!_

I don't really know what to do with the Ball, so I decide it can stay there and accumulate lots of dirt and rain. Become part of the lawn for all I care.

"Would you like to see round the Mansion?" Peach asks.

I tell her no, not really.

Her face falls, and I like the look of disappointment. This is too easy. I refuse her requests because I _can_.

This fact hits her. I know it does, for she rephrases her question, turning it into a demand. She catches on fast. 

"I _will_ show you around, Mewtwo."

I cannot ignore a direct order from my master. That's the law of Pokemon ownership. Once caught, you are property to the one who caught you. Now usually, there is a certain degree of 'worthiness' the trainer must have if he wants complete control. Sometimes it's a simple thing like respect.

A lot of the time though, it's the number of gym badges said trainer has earned. 

Generally speaking, the more badges you have, the better the trainer you are and the stronger the Pokemon who will happily do as you say. And unless the trainer is worthy enough to earn their undying loyalty, Pokemon have the right to do as they please.

That's the fundamentals of Pokemon and trainers; that's the grounds on which the Pokemon world operates.

The Master Ball basically takes these fundamentals, chews them up and spits them back into your face.

Or my face, should I say.

No rules or requirements exist for trainers with Pokemon in Master Balls. Only for the Pokemon: obey your master.

Battle. Protect. Breed. Whatever commands are chucked at you, do them.

This is how I work now. This is what I have sunk to, in a bid to escape from my creators. 

Someone's property.

It could be worse though. Better to have a self-absorbed princess intent on playing happy families that be slave to those who have made me the monster I am. 

"Main hall," Peach says. I look round once.

"First and second floors are all dormitories. The third floor has the Mansion controls and Master Hand's office."

She shows me some of the maps and tells me of her favourite ones. We pass a lot of Smashers along the way, and Peach introduces me to them. Most of them are human. I forget every name Peach tells me, save for the Pokemon Smashers. Pikachu knows who I am and tries to pull Pichu away from me. Jigglypuff simply wails when she sees me.

"Play, okay?" Pichu says to me. It comes out as repetitions of her name, but I can understand. 

She wants me to play with her, _okay_?

Highly unlikely.

We head outside and Peach calls over a big man with dark skin and a powerful presence. I can sense he is a magic user. Peach introduces me to 'Ganondorf'. He tells me I'll like it here at the Mansion. He extends his hand in what I think is going to be a handshake. However, he shows me a triangular insignia on the back of his hand, formed by three smaller triangles. He doesn't explain what it is, and Peach merely looks away, as though it's a terrible thing to look upon.

Besides the Pokemon, Ganondorf is the only one whose name I can remember. 

Peach's tour ends at a castle near the Mansion. 

"...This is where I live," she explains. 

Princess Peach's castle is a beacon for human greed and ego. Only riches touch this place. Everything, from the lights to the carpet, is luxurious and fit for royalty.

Built and fashioned from money and worth, I decide I have never seen a place so unwelcoming and ugly. Peach doesn't even glance at her surroundings.

Her quarters overlook a huge garden, and there are seven floor length windows, a balcony and a sparkling chandelier. A giant four-poster bed is at the top of the room, and there are two doors that lead to adjoining places. In one corner is a sofa and an armchair; across from them is a grand piano.

She seems to pick up on my disdain.

"I don't really like this place much," she murmurs. Her left hand fiddles with some of her fringe. "It's not particularly homely and I would've been perfectly happy with a room in the Mansion, but my father..." here, she looks a tad embarrassed "...erm, he likes to flaunt his wealth."

Unsurprising. It's a requirement for moneybags, surely.

I stay in her room for the rest of the day. I say no to her food and opt to sit next to the piano. Once or twice she tries to start a conversation or coax me into having a look at her library. I'm able to refuse though as she hasn't since given me an order.

The evening wears on and her attempts die out. She spends her time reading; I spend my time sitting and thinking. However, my eyes are beginning to grow heavy. They want to fall shut.

Contrary to popular belief, even legendary Pokemon need to get some shuteye. For me, sleep restores whatever psychic power I have used. Consider it the equivalent of humans and their need for energy. Without psychic abilities, my body will shut down before it can even protest. 

She is in front of me. I was so absorbed in my thoughts (as usual) that I don't notice her until now. She is right there. I react as soon as I see her, sending out a psychic barrier between her and me. She leaps back, a blur behind the blue screen.

"I wasn't going to hurt you, I promise," she says hurriedly. I notice she is fidgeting with something in her hands. It's a blanket of some sort. "...I'd never hurt you, Mewtwo."

"_That's what they said_."

I keep the barrier up. She doesn't tell me to put it down.

"...You must be tired," she says. "I heard from Master Hand that before this place you...you had nowhere to stay. It must have been hard on you...so I know you'd appreciate some rest. If...if you want..."

Her confidence goes, and she fails to finish her sentence. She simply holds out the blanket, moving her eyes towards the sofa.

Realising I'm not going to take it, she kneels down opposite me and puts it on the floor by my leg.

"...I'm sorry I caught you," she mumbles. "I didn't do it out of selfishness, whatever you may think. I just...want to help."

"_They said that too_."

She gets onto her feet again. This time, she looks ready to cry. I can't understand why. If I cause her so much sadness, why not just tell me to leave?

"Is that what they said to you? They were there to help you?" she whispers. Her voice is very hoarse all of a sudden. 

"_That's all I've ever heard: "I'll help you". I have never experienced it, however_."

I sit against one of the legs of the piano, and watch her put away her books. She walks into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her. I can hear running water, and while she is busy, I psychically draw the books she had been reading. They are both fantasy novels, each with their own bookmarks. I only flick through a few pages, before sending them back to their spaces on the bookshelf, resisting the urge to choose a few books for myself.

She emerges from the bathroom, now in pyjamas and slippers. Her crown is missing and her eyes are red. She looks as though she is going to walk to the bookshelf and pick out her novels again, but she stops midway. Instead, Peach crawls into bed, flicks a switch and the lights go out. For a moment, there is just darkness and its accompanying silence. But then my ears pick up on faint, muffled sobs. 

I adjust to the dark and stare ahead of me at the four-poster bed. The quilts are only slightly lumpy. It moves as she cries. They are restrained sobs, as though she's trying to hide them from me. Vaguely, I wonder what it's like to cry oneself to sleep. Do the tears stop when you fall asleep? 

I choose to ignore her, pulling the blanket towards me as I lay down on the floor under the piano. 

Three minutes later, she's calling across the room. She's obviously very restless and persistant.

"Please believe me when I say I will help you."

My eyes open at the sound of her voice, but I say nothing. 

"I'm not like them. The people who hurt you before...I'm not like them, Mewtwo."

Is that why she's crying? Because she thinks I don't believe her? She can cry all she likes, I'm sleeping. 

"I couldn't ever hope to relate to what you've been through--"

Is she for real!Maybe she thinks I've fallen asleep and it's okay for her to talk incessantly. Maybe she feels more confident in talking when she cannot see me. Either way, I do not appreciate it, and my patience is reaching its end.

"--but if you would..." Peach says hesitantly. 

Enough. I use my tail to push me upright and I sit up forcefully, furious with her.

I forget that the piano is right above me. My head hits it with a tremendous thud. A couple of the hammers in the piano hit the strings and there's a clash of notes.

She has ran over to me in an instant. Her quilts fall onto the carpet in her hurry but she doesn't care. She is still sniffing from crying. I still cannot work out why she's upset.

It doesn't hurt my head, but my neck is my weakest point. It lurches round from the awkward swing of my head on impact and I have to grit my teeth; the tube on the back of me twists painfully and abruptly. 

"Are you okay?"

She tries to feel my head but I pull myself away - away from the piano and away from her. 

I'm panicking. I haven't panicked for a while now but this is definitely panic I'm feeling. She's too _close_ and too _unpredictable _and too _kind_, and I can only do what makes sense to me: run and hide.

I tear onto the balcony. It's the furthest I can get away from her. The Master Ball can sense any attempt to flee and will restrict it. So I hide in the corner, behind a chair and next to a flowerpot.

She doesn't follow. The balcony door just shuts and she finally leaves me alone. She doesn't interfere all night. 

Or so I think.

When I wake up in the morning, there is a blanket round me and four fantasy novels at my side. 

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**E N D **

**M E W T W O**

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**A/N: I've never written anything as cynical and moody as Mewtwo's opening chapter. I had a good time writing it however. Hopefully I got his perspective right and did it so it actually fits how Mewtwo thinks.**

**Anyway, here's hoping you liked the chapter. I've also noticed that this is a popular pairing going by my poll! -dances-**

**Mewtwo's very jumpy in this, since he's not used to being treated nice. I tried to stick with Pokemon canon with the whole Master Ball thing, but I've only played up to crystal version so I'm not sure how things work with the later versions - if it's still gym badges and whatnot. Does anyone else find the Pokemon world somewhat cruel? Well, I guess only in Mewtwo's case it is, since he is highly intelligent and doesn't deserve to be treated like some pet like other Pokemon.**

**Anyhoo, the usual drill :) Please leave a review if you have any comments you'd like to share, dun be shy :D Thanks for reading, see you next time!**


	3. Peach: In which he hurts me

**A/N: And it's back to Peach!! Welcome to If You Let Me 3 :) Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time, I really appreciate you taking the time to let me know what you thought of the chapter.**

**Not much to say for this chapter :) So sit back and enjoy! **

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**I F ****Y O U **

**L E T ****M E**

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

o-o-**P E A C H**-o-o

The day I went to buy my first pet, I cried into my father's stomach. It was supposed to be a treat - my seventh birthday present - but I wept buckets in the store. I wanted to keep every animal there, from the birds to the gerbils. Break open all of the cages and take them home.

The day I found an injured starling, I sobbed into my mother's lap. It couldn't fly and it could barely stand. I wanted to save the bird, but my father said there was nothing we could do.

The day my mother died, I cried on my own. I wanted her to live long enough to finish her field and windmill embroidery. I wanted her to see the daffodils she had planted in winter. They bloomed four days after.

And the day Mewtwo first sat in front of me, the tears wouldn't stop.

His first day at Smash matches is his first day on the game board. There are twenty-five counters in total, and an endless amount of turns. Master Hand rolls the dice each time, pushing us forward for a number of spaces, pitting us against each other to add some excitement, or perhaps serve as a distraction from the ultimate goal. Only Master Hand himself knows what that is.

Usually, Master Hand decides on the matches. Today however, Ganondorf has managed to put in a request for him to go up against Mewtwo.

"Ganondorf wants to experience Mewtwo's power for himself," Bowser tells me. I am in the stands with him, watching Mewtwo and Ganondorf fight. It's a slow battle. Neither of the two are fast runners and their moves take time. Even from afar, I can see that Mewtwo's face is contorted in frustration. First match. There's a lot to take in.

I don't really like the idea of Ganondorf advancing towards Mewtwo and 'recruiting' him. The former is shrewd and cunning; you can quite easily sense the wickedness he is consumed by. In this instance though, I am grateful for him taking on Mewtwo. He has unintentionally stopped Master Hand from playing his games. Pitting _me_ against Mewtwo for example.

"Rumour has it you've adopted him. You know, like your Pokemon." Bowser arches a bushy eyebrow at me. "Crazy, much?"

"I want to help him," I respond. "You can decide for yourself if that's crazy or not."

He grins. Bowser doesn't have the cleanest of slates, having kidnapped me many times as part of his plans, but he has a big heart to suit his size. A lot of the time he is hanging around with Ganondorf like a loyal supporter, but his search for power is somewhat milder. Anyway, the numerous kidnappings gave us bonding time and while he does aggravate me to no end, he is someone I count on within the walls of this Mansion.

Mewtwo loses his match. I find no one is really that surprised. Ganondorf is a powerhouse and it takes more than one match to analyse him and his fighting pattern.

I can already feel my eyes going watery. I can't help it. Mewtwo is right there on Destination; Ganondorf is talking to him. They have just received the stats breakdown. Mewtwo looks so disappointed and confused. I want to go down and tell him it's okay to lose, that he shouldn't look too deeply into the stats...but Ganondorf is there with him, and that very thought paralyses me.

When it is my match, Bowser wishes me good luck (sarcastically of course, his manners do not exist) and I make my way to the portal. I spot Ganondorf and Mewtwo at the back. Neither of them look at me.

Marth is my opponent today. He joined the Mansion knowing very little English and possessing no understanding of technology. I remember he shouted the Mansion down when he found a stereo blaring out music. He was so excited about it he and Roy sat in front of it and fiddled with the buttons in awe, eyes wide in pure amazement. Marth is naive like that; it's just in his nature. What he cannot express in words he expresses in gestures. Not the most orthodox way of getting by, but it's been successful enough to earn him a girlfriend, a huge fanbase and the position of most popular guy in Smash Mansion.

I am hardly concentrating in my match, but I still scrape a win. I had struck lucky with a Stitch-Face turnip and got away from dangerous blows by throwing Toad in front of me. I'm anxious to leave the arena and find Mewtwo, so I make a hasty exit after shaking hands with Marth.

"You look far away," Marth calls after me. "Did Peach not feel well?"

I'm going up the stairs to the stands as fast as my heels and dress will take me. Smashers are already getting up to leave. Popo rushes past me in a hurry; Jigglypuff hops to the door. Bowser and Ganondorf on the other hand, sit in their seats, legs outstretched and having no intention of leaving.

"He feels worthless."

Ganondorf's deep voice is loud and stern, and I first assume he is talking to Bowser. But his eyes are on me.

"...Sorry?"

"Your Mewtwo. I can tell by his fighting that he feels worthless. Coming here, hating humans, he winds up being owned by one. It hasn't given him any confidence. He's just as broken as he was before. Didn't even try today." Ganondorf shrugs, giving me a meaningful look. "He has potential though. A heck of a lot of it. I think I can help him there; I understand how he works."

He is mocking me by saying he thinks he can help. That's what I'm trying to do. But it's the underlying threat that gets to me. Ganondorf is keen to have Mewtwo as an ally of his. The two are both independent power seekers, I know that. Yet Mewtwo is different from him. He's not looking for power like it's all he needs, he's not--

"He told me your stupidity alarms him." Ganondorf smiles at me, apparently eager to see my response to this. I don't give him the satisfaction. I look past him to Bowser and ask him if he has seen Mewtwo around.

"He teleported somewhere," Bowser says. "I can't tell you where though."

I am thankful that Bowser acted out of his own accord and chose to help me. He typically sides with Ganondorf for everything.

So I search the Mansion. First the living room, then the dining hall and kitchen. He is nowhere in sight, and a terrible thought starts to eat at my stomach.

"He can't have run away," I tell myself. Surely the Master Ball would prevent such a thing from happening?

I run through the possibilities of where he could be, and I think of my castle. Had he gone back there?

The door to the castle is wide open. Toadsworth is shifting his weight from foot to foot in the hallway. It's a habit of his. Usually it means he's about to tell me something I don't want to hear.

"Welcome back, Your Highness," he says politely. "How did your match go?"

"I won," I reply. I don't mean for it to come out so dismissive, but Mewtwo is on my mind and he won't leave.

"Your Highness...I have a somewhat...selfish request..."

"Yes, Toadsworth?"

"Perhaps you could...tell your Pokemon not to enter the castle on his own?" Toadsworth gives me an apologetic look. "He frightens some of us here and we would feel erm..._safer..._if you were here."

I look up the stairs, relieved. Mewtwo is here. He hasn't ran away. I nearly go on that note, but then I remember Toadsworth was asking me something.

"Did he harm anyone?"

"Well...no," Toadsworth admits, clearing his throat a little. "He just teleported into the hall and went upstairs. But Your Highness, you cannot deny that he might harm us. He scares your attendants."

I don't find an answer to please him. What am I supposed to do? Tell Mewtwo he must always return with me? That he should stick to me like a shadow? Have the rest of his freedom stripped off him?

"Your Highness!" Toadsworth sighs in exasperation. I have gone up to my quarters without giving him a reply. My attendants are just nervous around a new face. Mewtwo doesn't mean any harm really, Toadsworth knows that. He's probably just trying to act professional for my father.

He is in my room, reading. Mewtwo. Sat just in front of the piano so that only his tail slips under, one of the fantasy novels I gave him floats a few inches off the floor as he turns its pages.

Mewtwo means harm? He's _reading_. I don't feel the fear Toadsworth feels. I just feel _his_ fear. Mewtwo's fear. I know he is afraid. He insults me as a way to cover his insecurity; he chooses the spot in my room that has something to hide under. He opts to sit in a corner away from the light. Eyes ever suspicious and always careful in his movement, his anxiety is glaringly obvious. I wonder why Toadsworth cannot see it.

Mewtwo looks up when I enter, half curious, half annoyed. I don't mind him giving me such a contemptuous glance; seeing him reading has been enough to make me smile.

"I'm glad you managed to find your way home," I say to him. His somewhat placid gaze (for his standards) turns to its usual look of steel.

"_This isn't my home_."

I put my parasol in its stand and shut the door. My bed has been made already, and my attendants have left a snack tray on the table. I cross the room and sit on the floor next to him. I'm expecting for him to run away from me like how he did last night. But with no threat of us touching, he merely shifts himself a little further under the piano.

Before I start talking, I make sure Mewtwo is looking at me. "This is your home," I tell him gently. "At least...please consider it as one. You will always be cared for. You can come back here no matter what happens. You're welcome here."

"_Your guardian seems to think otherwise_," he replies swiftly.

"Toads are nervous by nature. They're just shy of you."

His eyes are fixed on mine. It's actually demanding a lot of my concentration to keep looking at him.

"_They were under the impression I meant to harm_."

He knows. I fidget with part of my dress. He continues tonelessly.

"_You could just order me to never lay a finger on your servants_."

I did consider that, but I don't think I ever want to give him an order again. The very thought sickens me. This Master-Pokemon relationship that Master Hand has thrown upon us is twisted and wrong.

"...I know you won't hurt them," I choose to say. "They mean you no harm and--"

"_Do you think that's sensible?_" he interrupts. "_You trust me at the expense of others' safety. You think you are doing me favours by owning me. You're not. You let me sleep in your room when there was no telling what I could do._"

He looks deadpan at me. "_Your idiocy is beyond that of an average human._"

I clasp my hands together and hold them tight until I have squeezed all my nerves out of them.

"If I were to _ask_ you to leave the Toads alone...would you do it?" I select my words carefully, but Mewtwo spots a flaw in it before I can finish.

"_Is it a matter of whether I'll do it or not? It's all about if you trust me to keep to that request. And you are too trusting. You would do well to doubt me_."

"Do you want me to doubt you? The same way everyone else has done?"

He is silent. I move closer to him by instinct, trying to get a better look at his face. It is etched with fury. His anger makes him dangerous. Right now, I am in the most precarious of situations. I have uncapped his bottled rage and fear starts to coarse through my body. But I press on. If I can make my point, make him understand...perhaps it will ease him.

"I think you want t-to be trusted, Mewtwo."

Too shaky. My voice is so overwhelmed by fear, it's going to negate any valid point I make. Mewtwo's eyes have narrowed considerably and just by looking, he dares me to continue.

The fear has to go. The worst that can happen is that he hurts me. I can handle that; I need to explain.

"...You want to be trusted and liked," I say to him. "You're afraid of me, afraid of being hurt again and most of all, you're lonely. I think that's why you came here. To ease your sadness--"

He doesn't move, but I feel a hand grip my arm and throw me a few feet backwards. It's a terrible ordeal, being hit by something you cannot even see. The impact sends me onto the floor and my back hits the edge of my bed. Something has slammed into my stomach, but when I look, there's nothing there. I choke and gasp from the sudden attack, but my cries are more from shock rather than pain.

He is hurting me. He hasn't even lifted a finger but he's hurting me so much. My hands tear at the long haired rug by my bed; my screams are absorbed by the floor. My quarters are away from the Toads; they cannot hear me.

The air has turned into steel and it crushes my body from every direction. But the greatest pain is my head. Mewtwo is drilling away at my mind, pinpointing an immense amount of pressure at both my temples, wrenching them towards each other. I want to grip my head but my hands won't listen.

I force whatever strength I have left into my jaw, and the words are out of my mouth before I realise what I've done.

"STOP IT!!"

The pain is gone. It's just me, lying on the floor face-down. Some hairs from the carpet have tangled themselves in my fingers; my face is wet with a mixture of tears and sweat. But there is no evidence at all of what I've just experienced. It looks as though I've simply woken up from a nightmare.

"_This is what I am_," Mewtwo snarls. "_Make me angry and this is what I become._"

Mewtwo still sits close to the piano. The fact that he can unleash that much pain without even doing anything frightens me. I thought I could get through to him; now I realise that I tackled it the wrong way. But I know he resorted to attacking because he was afraid of me.

I force myself to sit up. I'm shaking all over. Against my body's wishes, I crawl back over to him. He watches me uninterestedly.

"You didn't hurt me...because you were angry," I tell him. "You can control your anger. You hurt me because I trusted you not to."

He doesn't deny it.

"...So I will give you one more order."

His eyes meet mine and I know he is thinking the same as me. I do not want to set down rules, but he has made me lose some trust in him. "It's the only one I will ever expect you to keep. Don't do that...that pain again. On anyone. You're gifted with psychic power, but you mustn't use it like that. So please...don't ever do it."

"_Alright then_," he replies. I can sense miserable triumph in his voice, since I have had to succumb to giving orders as he had suggested. But it saves my life and the Toads, and knowing that I won't be hurt, perhaps that will give me some strength as I try to change him.

However, strength has deserted me for now, and sheer confusion and shock gets the better of me.

I cry at his side. First, only a little. Just sniffs and dabs at the eyes. But my sadness swells in size when I recall his defensiveness kicking in.

He abused my trust because he didn't know how else to handle it.

Soon, I'm weeping all over again, like I usually do. Tears spatter onto his knee, but he doesn't move away. He just watches me, the look on his face suggesting he has never witnessed the act of crying so close. He averts his gaze.

Then, he picks up his fantasy novel and carries on reading.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**E N D **

**P E A C H**

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**A/N: What do you think? Mewtwo's getting a bit on the defensive, and Peach had to resort to setting down a no psychic torture rule and as such, Peach has let herself down. **

**In case you're wondering, Peach's crying: she's not a weakling. The beginning paragraphs and last line show that she cries out of compassion for others, as opposed to feeling sorry for herself. There's a difference! She's too forgiving as well, so it's a bit of a struggle for her to get through to Mewtwo. Also, since there's no real canon for Peach's family, I'm giving my own backstory for her, which plays a significant part to this fic.**

**Anyhoo, please review if you have comments and/feedback! See you next time with Mewtwo's take :)**


	4. Mewtwo: In which she leaves me

**A/N: Mewtwo returns for his second chapter!! Welcome back to If You Let Me and thanks for the reviews submitted for Peach's chapter!! Without any further ado, here's chapter 4. Enjoy :)**

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**I F ****Y O U **

**L E T ****M E**

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

o-o-**M E W T W O**-o-o

It's the middle of the night and I cannot sleep. This usually happens when I have too much to think about and it refuses to let my mind rest. My body is not tired at all, since it rarely moves without the aid of psychic; my head however, it aches from pestering thoughts that I have never really had before.

A few days back, I gave her a taste of psychic pain at its minimum. It seems to have had a bigger effect on her than I had assumed. She has issued a ban on it as her first proper order, and now she has this alarming doe-eyed look about her.

I don't regret what I did, but I do wonder why I used mind torture. I could have just thrown something at her. It has been a long time since I resorted to hurting someone that way. In any case, she was right when she said I didn't attack her out of anger. I merely wanted to crush the hopes she had for me changing for the better.

Maybe I already am though. I don't see myself leaving this place, trying to be as far away as possible from that girl. Instead, I am here, stretched out under the piano in the dark, eyes wide open and ears picking up on her steady breathing across the room. I've noticed she always sleeps on the left hand side of her double bed. Not the most useful of facts, but I'm gradually learning her habits whether I like it or not.

I spend the whole night awake, staring at the piano's underside, examining its skeleton-like framework as the dark slowly changes to light. Peach is a still sleeper; she only rolled over twice last night.

Our morning routine is always the following. Her alarm goes off at 7.00, she hits it with a sleepy hand and fifteen minutes later, she drags herself out of bed. She goes to the bathroom to shower, get dressed and look pretty for some human or another. While she's in there, two Toads enter her room and set up breakfast at a table, open the curtains and windows and leave the morning post on her bed. That way, when she leaves the bathroom, she sweeps up the letters as she goes to sit down.

I stay where I am. Peach asks me every morning if I would like breakfast, and I typically say no.

Typically.

She sits at the table, looks at me curled up here in a blanket and says, "Would you like breakfast?"

"_Yes please_."

In her surprise, she pours too much cereal into her bowl. Her eyes widen and a positively delighted look comes onto her face.

She's so easy to play games with.

"Oh! Erm, what would you like? I have cereal here o-or I could go and fetch you some toast, fruit, um..."

For a few seconds I enjoy her fretting, but before long, I tire of this small joke. I tell her I don't really want breakfast, and she stops listing every item of food in the castle.

"...Oh." Her face falls and she appears to be hurt by it. Then, a smile works its way onto her face and she adds, "Well...you got me there. If you are hungry though, you can help yourself."

I know that much. She tells me that every morning, as if it's a piece of information I always lose overnight. Nevertheless, I do need to eat every few days or so, and I'm starting to feel the effects of going for days on end with no food. It's not that I'm starving to death; it's more the fact that if I don't use my body physically like everyone else, it will notice and probably weaken and pack up. And there's no hope for someone with a superior mind when he doesn't have a working body to harbour it.

After breakfast, Peach tells me she has a meeting with Master Hand. We walk out of the castle, past a row of bowing Toads and towards the Mansion.

"Master Hand's office is on the third floor. It's the door with the giant brass knocker. If you do need anything, you can pop in and see me...if you like."

She's hesitant and rather embarrassed. She knows that I don't need anything from her and no, I'm not going to 'pop in'. After a second of awkwardness, she sets off for the Mansion stairs and I'm in the hallway by myself.

I hear animated chatter in the dining hall, and someone calling on the landing. I wonder what I'm doing here. There are no matches today after all, and nothing in this building requires my presence. I remember briefly the back gardens to this place. The quiet suddenly seems inviting and I am just about to teleport, when someone catches my eye.

He comes down the stairs in that leisurely pace of his; once again, he has that aura of mystery and terror to him. Ganondorf motions for me to follow.

"You look like you've forgotten where the dining hall is," he remarks. Apparently unafraid of my glare, the corners of his mouth twitch and he heads inside for breakfast.

Ganondorf is no top tier Smasher, but he seems to rule the Mansion with an iron fist. All the tables are full, and we have nowhere to sit. It's never a long-lasting problem though, for as soon as Ganondorf makes his predicament clear with the tightening of his lips, three children (I've never cared to learn names here) get up and scarper. They take their trays and breakfast is over for them.

We get their seats.

A short detour to the main table, and Ganondorf chooses his meal for the morning. I'm starving hungry, and I opt to take some food from here so that I don't have to take any from Peach. Although it is only an apple I snatch, it should be enough to keep my hunger at bay for a few days. Ganondorf pauses in his selection of toast as his hand lingers over something. He holds up a jug of milk and his eyebrows raise a fraction.

It's ever so subtle, but I know a jeer when I see one.

Milk for the cat.

Utterly hilarious.

"_Pass_," I answer, and he sets the jug back down. His amused smile doesn't leave him however, and all through breakfast he surveys me with that smirk. I notice a lot of other Smashers eyeing us warily. Ganondorf is used to it, I assume.

My bites into the apple are small and tentative to begin with, but the sharp taste on my tongue and the freshness of the skin is too appealing, and it's gone within seconds.

It makes me feel better, eating that single apple. I _want_ to eat more. Ganondorf pushes forward his breakfast tray and I realise that there's a lot on there. More than what one human would have as his first meal of the day. It's clear that Ganondorf knew a single apple would not satisfy me.

I don't think as I snatch up jam toast, get it down in two mouthfuls and take the second slice. It goes in a similar fashion. Only when the tray's empty do I stop and take control of myself. I don't usually succumb like this.

"You've been refusing food?" asks Ganondorf. He leans back in his seat; his face shows little concern, more interest. "Is this just a bad patch you're going through, or are you actually happy to let your power slip away?"

It's been nearly a week since I started at this Mansion. In that time, Ganondorf has been the only one to really pay attention to me (who isn't my master anyway). He always gives me a curt nod when we pass each other; one time when I was visibly bored, he suggested we train together. Ganondorf is the closest thing I have to a friend, but it's not because we like each other. It's more the fact that Ganondorf phrases his words and questions so well, I feel inclined to answer and sometimes, comply.

When he asks me if I am happy to let my power 'slip away', I know he is referring to two things: my appalling Smash match against him and my submission to Peach. He is very observant, knowing that I have become weak and powerless, traits that are not meant for me.

However, I am wary. Ganondorf strikes me as someone whose shrewd mind and careful attitude works for his benefit only.

"..._What do you want with me?_"

I look over our shared breakfast and eye him blankly. I've avoided answering his question; it makes sense for him to return the favour.

"Why did you join this Mansion?" he asks. He sounds curious, but his eyes gleam with satisfaction, as if he has already heard my reply.

I'm not comfortable enough to tell him why. It's none of his business. Besides, it doesn't do anything positive on my pride. The truth is, I have been fleeing from Team Rocket and its heinous leader. Not only that, I've been fleeing by myself with not even an inkling of a destination. I spent days hidden in alleyways; nights under trees as it rained. I was only able to eat what I could find in the wild; I could never stray too far from a source of water in case the thirst got to me.

Some days, I'd find wild Pokemon who would divide their daily gathering of food with me. Other times (fine, _most_ times) Pokemon ran away from me or pretended to be oblivious of my presence. I remember one solitary winter night when I was so cold and hungry, I contemplated killing the next living thing I saw, use its dead body to keep warm for a while and then devour it. I was that desperate.

I can't recall how I survived that night, but my travels eventually took me to this Mansion, or at the very least, a city where they spoke of it. And it being a place of refuge, competition and independence, how could I refuse?

Anyway, it's shameful to say the least. The world's strongest Pokemon runs from human ownership, only to end up in the hands of another. Like it's his destiny.

And there's no way in hell I'll tell Ganondorf why I joined and how it's failed. So I change the subject, avoiding the question again.

"_You have an insignia on the back of your hand_."

A bit of ego stroking there. Unintentional, but Ganondorf is rather pleased. The hand in question clenches and unclenches itself. I watch it, quite mesmerised.

"You know, some are born great. Destined to be great, if you will."

It is clear by the tone of his voice that Ganondorf considers himself to be in this category. I examine a glass of water in the middle of the tray moodily.

"Don't you think you're one of the capable ones, Mewtwo? You've been given the gift of extraordinary power. You don't want to see it go."

He is praising me and giving what could be helpful advice, but one word - and how he says it - sticks to me: Mewtwo.

I glare at him. Blood rushes to my head and in my inexplicable anger, the chair next to me snaps in half, as though someone particularly heavy has just sat on it. It clatters to the floor in pieces. I didn't mean to do it. Ganondorf's eyebrows shoot up; he looks mildly surprised. Across the hall, a pink puffball and a man in dungarees glance from the chair to me.

"_I hate it when people use my name_," I tell Ganondorf crossly."_You don't just toss it into the conversation as a throwaway word._"

Ganondorf stares at me. I know he doesn't understand. My hands ball themselves into fists as I channel my anger into them. I want to explain clearly, I really do, but I can only think up of short sentences, and even them are chopped.

"_It's my name, my possession,_" I manage. "_It's the only thing I have_."

I'm so frustrated and hurt. How dare he bring up my loss of pride and power. How dare he be so patronising with my name.

"I didn't mean any offense," Ganondorf says smoothly. He is unfazed by my abrupt outburst. "Don't think I intend to insult you or your sudden loss of strength. It's quite the contrary."

Quite the contrary, is it? I think dryly. That would explain why Ganondorf has some interest in me. I have power, and command respect because of it. Ganondorf thinks it would be a shame to have so much power go to waste.

The glass of water is still there, and I opt to take it despite my feline protests. After all, I cannot really drink from a glass. The water will simply pour out the sides of my mouth. So to tackle this, I end up scooping some water with my tongue and pulling it in, maintaining a psychic hold on the glass all the while. It's awkward enough without Ganondorf watching me.

Afterwards, I feel disgusted with myself. I'm not an animal so I can't get away with lapping up water. But I'm not human either so it would be wrong to drink from a cup.

Why did I eat toast? That's human food.

What the hell is happening to me?

I'm sickened. My stomach twists and flips in sheer revulsion. I can't even bear to look at that empty tray in front of me. So I leave, and Ganondorf just watches me go with amusement in his eyes. I don't know what he wants from me, but I will figure it out.

It is a lonely and absent-minded walk. Once or twice, I lose myself in the Mansion, wondering where I am. I come across a gym, but it doesn't interest me. A sign hanging off the wall reads the library, but the one place I do have some interest in turns out to be locked. It's just me and my aimless wandering, before I find myself on the third floor, outside a door with a giant brass knocker.

Master Hand's office is right at the very end of the corridor. Just like the time when I wolfed down the toast, I have this strange sensation of not being aware of what I'm doing. It's almost as though I'm just curious; oblivious and indifferent to the consequences. I want to know what happens if I knock.

I lift the knocker and it hits the metal on the door with an enormous bang. A few seconds later, a Toad stands in the doorway and squeaks in fright when he sees me. I look past him into the room.

It's very spacious, with a blood red theme and hints of gold. At an oak table, Master Hand and Peach are going over some notes. The far end of the room has a large screen coming down from the ceiling. It displays a graph, which shows the correlation of matches and victories for every Smasher. On the floor, Crazy Hand lies flat on his back, fingers twitching. He reminds me somewhat of a woodlouse when it lies the wrong way up, wiggling its legs helplessly.

"Mewtwo. What can I do for you?" Master Hand calls across the room pleasantly. The Toad is gawking at me. Peach looks up from her tea, perplexed. For a few seconds, she just sits there, and I just stand here. Then, she is on her feet, walking hurriedly round the table towards me. Master Hand swivels as he follows her movement from where he sits.

"Are you okay?" is the first thing she asks. Her eyes search me, looking for something wrong with me. An injury, perhaps. "Did something happen?"

I shake my head. Nothing _did_ happen. Her eyebrows move closer together.

"...Then why did you knock?"

An awkward morning and what seemed like an eternity of wandering; it felt like the right thing to do, coming here.

"_I don't know why I knocked. I just did._"

She looks at me as if I have gone mad. Though, that might be true. Since when do I act so wildly, doing these irrational things like eating and knocking for someone I don't like?

Peach doesn't seem to know why I came either. She bites her lower lip, casting a furtive glance at Master Hand. Her eyes search me again and she asks, "Are you hurt?"

No, just frustrated. And angry. Hurt...maybe.

"_What do you want with me?_"

I have asked this before. To Ganondorf.

"Wh-what do you mean--?"

"_Is it power?_" I press. "_Is that why it's appealing? To be my master or otherwise have control of me?_"

She clutches the door with a hand, somewhat hidden behind it. The Toad continues to ogle at me, but this alarming gaze moves to Peach every now and then.

"...Do you think someone's after your power?" Peach asks. She speaks gently, as though that will console me. "...No one is after your power here."

I turn and begin to walk away. I know she won't follow, or even set a foot outside the door. She has a meeting to finish.

"..._I'm pretty sure I had breakfast with one._"

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**E N D **

**M E W T W O**

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**A/N: Some awkward moments for Mewtwo this chapter, namely the Ganondorf banter (in which they don't actually answer any of the questions) and knocking for Peach. That and the eating, by the way, are effects of Mewtwo's insecurity, as well as his sudden annoyance with Ganondorf's use of his name.**

**As always, reviews/feedback are greatly appreciated. Please don't just alert or fave without dropping me a line :( Your opinion is very valuable, and I'd love to hear from you. Thanks for reading!**


	5. Peach: In which I explain

**A/N: Hi and welcome back to If You Let Me - this chapter is from Peach's perspective. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, your thoughts are very much appreciated!**

**Enjoy :)**

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**I F ****Y O U **

**L E T ****M E**

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

o-o-**P E A C H**-o-o

o-o-**IN WHICH I EXPLAIN**-o-o

My mother died on an unusually dark spring morning. In the last few days leading up to her death, she was hardly coherent. Her voice, movement and beauty left her one after the other, until she was just a shell of a human being, waiting to die. Our last afternoon together was a Monday. I remember being sat on her bed with a book, where I read from where she had left off.

That book.

It's off the bookshelf and in his psychic grasp. He's on the last chapter already, eyes darting from left to right. Today, he ventures out from the comforts of the piano. He sits against the foot of my bed, tail limply at his side and head jerked forwards in an unnatural position.

While Mewtwo reads, I sift through the mass of paperwork Master Hand kindly gives me every Wednesday. Mewtwo turns a page; so do I. Every now and then I sneak a look at him to see if he's moved at all. Half an hour passes, and he finishes the book. I'm desperate to hear his view on the ending, but Mewtwo merely pushes the book aside and stares at the carpet.

A Toad knocks and enters my quarters, bringing in with him some late afternoon post. Of course, only one person has their letters delivered by hand to my castle and sure enough, the letter is addressed to me with the royal seal of Mushroom Kingdom (a mushroom, funnily enough).

"Erm...Your Highness?" my attendant says meekly. "Your father requests that you write back this time."

He backs out the door and it shuts with a small click. I give the envelope a once-over and come to the same conclusion as every other letter: that my father had someone else write it for him.

"I'm bored!" I exclaim loudly. I throw my pen down for emphasis and it clatters against the table. "I'm tired of doing the work Master Hand can't be bothered to do. It's all pointless stuff anyway."

Mewtwo doesn't say anything. He doesn't even look up.

There's a report of matches in front of me which I should be tallying onto everyone's scores (it's part of the 'pointless stuff'). Three points to Link for winning today's match with that same score; negative two points to Donkey Kong for losing. I look at the tally so far.

At the top, we have **Marth: 48**.

At the bottom, we have **Mewtwo: - 26**.

He has such a terrible score. He hasn't even won a match. Smashers think it's because he's not strong at all, but I was at that meeting and I heard it all myself. He didn't come here to fight; he came to run and hide.

I pick up my pen and throw it again. This time, the nib hits the paper hard and black ink shoots out across the page and some of it even gets my father's letter.

The mere sight of that stupid score list and that even-more-stupid letter is enough to make my blood boil. I have to move. So mustering my courage, I settle down on the carpet next to him, back against my bed.

Maybe he needs company too.

"I feel so miserable today," I confess. "Every day, there's something new to this Mansion that makes me feel worse."

There's no response.

Please talk to me, I beg him silently. Speak to me. Shout at me for all I care.

Come on, Mewtwo!!

I'm shouting before my brain realises it. "Why won't you talk?! _Why_?!"

"_Because I feel miserable too._"

He's looking at me at last. Eyes are annoyed as ever, but there is a tint of honesty and sadness too. What are we? Two miserable beings with the fate of never being happy?

Mewtwo's hands tense up, but that's the only movement he has. I've noticed he likes to be still and emotionless, using his psychic to bring things to him. Any movement as he sits is rare, and as such, it catches my eye.

"...Do you want to talk to me about what's making you unhappy?"

"_If I did, I would have told you by now._" His gaze slides from my eyes to a little below them.

"I want to know," I mumble.

"_Then why not order me to tell you?_" Mewtwo's voice begins to rise in triumph, but he hardly sounds pleased. "_While you're there, why not order me to eat, as opposed to asking me every morning? Order me to stay away from Ganondorf as well - it's clear you don't approve. Order me to talk whenever you need me to, tell me when--_"

"Stop it, I get it!"

He obeys.

I cry out in exasperation and hit my face with my hands. "I'm so sorry...it just came out that way. It wasn't an order..."

He grunts sceptically. "_You'll get used to it over time. Soon enough you will not care how many orders you give, or even what they are. Power is twisted like that._"

"I wouldn't know. I don't want power."

I sniff. The air is suddenly bitter and I have to breathe deeply. Silence washes over us like a calming wave. For one blissful moment, I see him relax a little in my presence. His shoulders sag a little and his head moves a fraction to the right - towards me. I'm positive that he will look away as soon as I turn to him; I stare straight ahead, so as to keep him looking at me.

"...I saw you finish that book," I murmur carefully. I promise myself to always think before I speak from now on. I will never give him an order by mistake ever again. "Would you like to see the castle's library? The one in the Mansion is always locked because it's hardly ever used, but there's one here..."

The library is across the landing from my quarters. I stop halfway, because I have the feeling I'm going to the library by myself.

I'm wrong. When I look behind me, Mewtwo comes to a halt and looks at me blankly.

"_Are you lost?_"

"N-no! I-I know--" I stammer, catching hold of my nerves before they show. "The...the library's right here."

I swear I see a tiny uplifting of his mouth to express some amusement, but the odds are it was down to imagination. I have never seen him smile.

Then again, I had never seen Mewtwo come after me of his own free will until that time a few days ago, when he knocked on Master Hand's office door. And right now, he has defied my expectations by following me.

I shouldn't believe I know him.

The castle's library is everything a library should be. It is spacious and filled with neatly aligned bookcases. The books themselves are arranged in order, some visibly worn and others brand new. Reference dominates this library, but a small section - and I show him this area - is dedicated to my fiction novels, ones that I immersed myself in to keep my father from talking to me.

"You can take whatever you like. There really isn't any need to ask," I say. "If you want, you can read in here if it...if it makes you more comfortable."

I gesture lamely around the room. I know - and am sure he knows too - that this room is far from comfortable. On closer inspection, one will realise that the shelves are far too close together, the circle of armchairs look foreboding and while there are three large windows, very little sunlight seeps in. The smell of wood and paper begins to burn and the panelling of the walls are so thick there is nothing but silence. The sort of silence that makes you want to scream spontaneously just so that it will go away.

The crease between his eyes becomes more evident as he looks down in thought. He doesn't appear to be angry with me, more so contemplative. Such an expression of calm gives me a bit of hope - perhaps I have got through to him at last.

"_You're trying too hard,_" Mewtwo mutters. "_I don't know what you want from me, but it really isn't necessary to sugarcoat your demands. There isn't a reason for you to offer me some freedom when I am yours to command and you hate me for what I am to you: a hindrance._"

"When did I ever call you a hindrance? It's not true at all." My face contorts in confusion and discomfort (we're so close, after all - this aisle is shrinking in width as we speak). "Who would say you're a hindrance to m--?"

I trail off, answering the question myself. Mewtwo's impassive look confirms my suspicions.

"I don't hate you," I tell him gently. "...And I don't think you hate me either. I know we didn't have the greatest of starts but you can trust me, I promise. You don't get in my way at all, and having you here doesn't make me any worse or better of a Director. Please don't let Ganondorf have you think otherwise."

For a second, I have him convinced. His mouth opens a little in surprise. Of course, I have to go and wreck it. I can't do anything right anymore.

In retrospect, I think I was too fascinated by his softened look to realise what I was doing. I forgot who I was talking to just when it mattered.

My hand reaches only inches forward, and three of my fingers run over his forearm from its inside to the elbow. There's the slightest trace of fur on his outer arm, but it feels like the skin of a human on the inside. Later on I will recall how bony he felt.

Just three fingers, but it's enough.

He lets out a feral snarl, but this isn't telepathy he's using. It's a sound right from the bottom of his stomach, ripping its way through his throat and becoming a vicious, animalistic roar. His eyes flash and an unknown force pushes me against a bookcase. An invisible hand grips at my neck and I wait for him to invade my mind and torture me all over again...

The grip disappears. I slump onto the carpet, exhaling. I'm surprised at this milder ordeal, but then I remember, of course, that I had ordered him to never use that psychic method of pain anymore. Sat here on the floor, one leg at an angle and the guilty hand wiping under my eyes, he towers over me.

"_You will not touch me again,_" he enunciates clearly. A book that juts out from the shelf digs into my back. I am about to get to my feet when I see it again. The corners of his mouth lifting a little. This time, I know I'm not seeing things.

Finally, I get to witness his smile, and I do not like it at all.

It grows a little wider and he gives a laugh to accompany it, gruff and humorless in its sound. I shrink back, watching his eyes squeeze shut when he laughs harder.

"_My mistake_," he says almost cheerfully, but the words are dripping with sarcasm, "_you give the orders round here._"

Orders again. He won't let it rest, will he?

"Enough," I say to my knees. "Mewtwo, you've given enough digs about the control I have over you. You know I'm not taking advantage of you, but for some bizarre reason, you are making out that I am."

His half-smile of bitter amusement is gone in a flash, and he screws up his face to form a rather ugly look. However, he says nothing to counter my statement. It is a rare chance for me to explain.

I get to my feet, stagger a little and stand just inches from him. He looks murderous, but I'm used to that glower by now.

My mother always said to look beyond the face and into the eyes. I stare at him, and he merely stares back, daring me to continue. I have only just realised how easy he is to read.

"Do you know what I think?" I begin. "I think you're frightened of contact. You're afraid of letting people in. And I don't know if you believe me or not, but I am trying. I really am trying, but I can't help if you won't let me."

I run my tongue over my lips before continuing. "If you let me, I will help you from that world you're in now. I promise."

I refuse to take my eyes off him. He wants me to, but I know better than to succumb now, just when I've struck a chord with him.

"_...I have 'let' people in_," he says in an undertone. "_One used me for his own personal gain, putting me under his control by building on my trust, just like how you will._"

"Please don't compare me to him."

"_I have nothing else to compare to!_" His voice and temper rises and I half-expect for something to hit me. I don't brace myself for it though - deep down I know such a thing won't happen.

"You don't have to compare. You could just accept me a-and what I want from you."

"_And what do you want with me?_" He closes his eyes and twists his body to the side, like a child waiting for a smack.

"I want your trust. And for you to learn to give it again. You're so broken, I-I know you are--" My voice cracks a little. "...But I also know you want to trust me. Why else would you have knocked that day? You had nothing to say, nothing happened..."

"_...You're very mistaken. I don't recall ever wanting to put some faith in an obtuse princess such as yourself._" His head lulls a little as he shifts his shoulders lazily. "_If that is what you want to believe, fair enough. I will not complain. I am using you as much as you are using me. As I said before, there's no need to sugarcoat your lies._"

"I'm not the one who's lying."

Later on, I will be glad I argued with him. Sometimes, a bit of firmness is required for a point to be put across, no matter how delicate the other is. We finish on a heated note. It's a little too cramped and stuffy for us to continue anyway.

I return to my paperwork, sitting at the table with my tongue between my teeth. Mewtwo only comes back reluctantly. He chooses to lie down under the piano and survey me through the maze of pedals and chair legs. I notice he hasn't taken any books from the library. Still, I cannot help but feel somewhat triumphant. It's an unusual feeling to have, but my misery is soothed somewhat as the argument is played over and over again in my head like a favourite movie.

If I have got through to him, it will show.

Hours pass, and the only breaks I get from my work are dinner and a quick trip to the bathroom. It hits 11.00 when Mewtwo decides to talk again - seven hours since we last spoke. All this time, he has done nothing but hide under the piano in silence. I like to think he spent all that time pondering my words to him. My hopes are confirmed when he looks at me with one eye, the other hidden by his arm.

"..._Do you know what obtuse means?_" he asks.

I take off my slippers and perch on the edge of my bed. He is definitely thoughtful about his timing, starting a conversation _just_ as I'm about to go to sleep.

"I think it means something along the lines of stupid," I answer.

"_No,_" responds Mewtwo. "_It's an angle beyond ninety and as such, out of context with my earlier use of it._"

I recall him calling me an obtuse princess, and I smile lightly.

"Goodnight," I say to him.

His response is an irritable snort. For one tiny second, I think my manners have infuriated him, but when I reach to turn off the lamp, the switch moves of its own accord and the room goes dark.

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**E N D **

**P E A C H**

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**A/N: So, did Peach get through to Mewtwo or not? There are several references to Peach's family here, which I will be interested in hearing your thoughts on (since there is no elaboration on it, thanks Nintendo...tch). We've also got a bit of Ganondorf here - what's he up to?!**

**Anyhoo, I would really appreciate feedback and thoughts on this chapter, especially from those who do have this story on alert and follow it... -offers cookies-**

**Thanks for reading, and please review!! See ya next time.**


	6. Mewtwo: In which I ask

**A/N: I can quite safely say this fic is a living nightmare. I struggle to dish out each chapter. I got to 2000 words a few days back with this chapter, only to find I didn't like how it transitioned, which meant I had to rewrite it! Here's its result...**

**Oh, and to answer a reviewer's question about what Mewtwo this is, this is a slightly AU Mewtwo. He was created, taken in by Giovanni and used by him. He escaped, but after that there's no other canon events that apply to this fic. That is, he didn't go round cloning Pokemon and whatnot. Mew's relevance to this fic however... –grins–**

**Anyhoo, thanks for the lovely reviews, and hope you like this chapter!**

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**I F Y O U**

**L E T M E**

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**o-o-M E W T W O-o-o**

**o-o-IN WHICH I ASK-o-o**

One of the first things I learned to do was kill. Before that, I mastered the feelings of anger, self-hate and fear. Killing was the result of these mixing together to form one deadly concoction. I don't think I have ever felt remorse for my creators' deaths.

Over that tempestuous first year, deaths became just a tally on my mental score list. Days were not opportunities, they were just numbers. My fathers had given me life, but I only sought to waste it.

I only began to change nearly three years into my life when it was my turn as the creator. When I think back on it now, I sometimes wonder if it was a different Mewtwo who lived that life. Someone who looked and behaved like me but ultimately, had lived a fuller, happier existence. This Mewtwo had brought water to their curious eyes, shown them how to hone their psychic, let them use his body for warmth.

I wonder if it was me all along. It seems so far away now. Yet as I sleep, hazy memories begin to piece themselves back together. They're so real that some nights, I wake up and expect to feel one in my arms. Imagine my disappointment when I feel no one and see nothing.

For in a cruel, agonising twist of fate, I ended up killing the ones I loved more than anything in the world.

They barely reached my knees.

"Morning, Mewtwo. Did you sleep well?"

Their first attempts at telepathy sounded like the interference of a radio.

"Are you okay? You didn't spend the whole night on the balcony, did you?"

Her voice pulls me back to reality. Quite harshly, I might add. One minute I'm fondly recalling how content I used to be, next minute I'm wide awake again, realising it's all gone.

A part of me dies when I make that transition.

Peach stands on the balcony with me, clad in a dressing gown. I can barely make out her eyes as dishevelled hair covers most of her face. I assume her alarm went off, and she leapt out of bed to investigate into why the door was left open. I've only been sat out here for an hour or so. I like to feel the sun gradually warm my back as it rises; my muscles relax when I smell the cool air and the thriving pansies out here on the balcony.

I have this irrational idea that if I spend my time out here with the simplest things of nature, I'll eventually become part of it.

"_I needed to reorder my thoughts. The fresh air was inviting._"

Peach seems to understand, but her breakfast-marshalling routine kicks into place as usual. "Well...would you like some breakfast? We can talk about what's concerning you, if you like. I'll leave this door open."

Her offers of breakfast and a listening ear are not what tempt me to go back inside. It is, in fact, the sudden fear of relapsing into dark dreams of what happened, and what I could have done to stop it.

Peach is in a good mood today, and I put that down to my compliance and a lavender envelope nestled among the pile of post on her bed. She snatches up this envelope and rips it open with enthusiasm. It's quite a contrast to her usual lacklustre approach to news and mail.

"It's from Daisy. She's the Princess of Sarasaland. I don't get to see her much because she has royal duties there..."

Peach trails off, embarrassed. The sudden interest in setting up her breakfast only puts more attention on what she said. I turn her words over in my head, thinking. My tail knocks against the piano as I stand.

"..._What royal duties do you have?_"

The question and the fact that I'm asking one surprises her. She wears a look you'd expect to find on someone who's been caught stealing. The horror and shock, but not without the gleaming eyes that stem from the pure thrill of getting caught.

"Well...I suppose my duty is to..." She chooses her words too carefully. "...At some point, I'm supposed to take over for my father," she finishes. Apparently, that is the end of the conversation. She holds up Daisy's letter, like it's a shield to hide behind.

I watch her read, the same way she sometimes watches me read. There's something very special about that letter, or more precisely, the words are written in it. Peach's shoulders slacken and she doesn't look so tense or nervous; the corners of her eyes crinkle and she laughs in small bursts. She transforms into someone else.

I wonder how she does it.

"Daisy says hello," Peach tells me. I wrinkle my nose a little (after all, what am I supposed to think of a greeting from someone who hasn't even met me?). "I told her about you."

"_Why?_"

Peach mirrors my quizzical look. "...Don't you think you're worth mentioning? You mean a lot to me, and I couldn't help but mention you."

Contrary to what I think, Peach believes that I'm worth something. That in this little corner of the world, there's even room for me.

Isn't that what I want? To mean something to someone?

Isn't that what I _had_?

I used to be the difference between dying and living to see another day. To them, I meant protection and safety. As long as they were with me, they were safe - that was their mentality. It couldn't be any more ironic.

Peach doesn't express any fear when I go to stand just inches from her.

"_Before I came here_," I mutter, "_I made a mistake._"

I sit at her feet, like a dog to his master. My tail snakes round a few chair legs.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she answers.

"_No._"

I am about as clueless as she is, as to why I told her this in the first place. But somehow, it reassures me to admit out loud that I am capable of making mistakes. That I, like a human, have flaws that I'm aware of.

"If it's any consolation, I make mistakes all the time." Peach smiles wryly. She picks up something from the table and brings it to my eye level. At first, I think it's food, but it's hard to not recognise that letter from her father. It's been sitting around unopened for days. "This will show you how many blunders I'm capable of making," she murmurs.

I take it and turn it over. A ring of beige crinkles the front of the envelope, and some of the address is smudged because of it. It's clear that at some point, she used this letter as a coaster.

I crane my neck to look up at her. Peach is stirring her cup of tea mulishly, seemingly unaware of how much the table rocks from it.

"..._Do you want to talk about it?_" I ask.

She smiles lifelessly. "No."

My tolerance of her goes up a notch. Dissimilar we are, but there is a thin thread of disappointment, loneliness and the mutual respect of one another's secrets that ties us together.

After breakfast, she goes to get changed. I notice she has barely touched the food. I finish off the grapes and use this time alone to get some water down as well. It is then that I spot the head newspaper for Mushroom Kingdom, nestled beneath the breakfast tray.

'"I cheated!": Confession of Garden Contest Winner' one headline reads.

'Are Coins Too Big?' another asks.

I snort with impatience at such trivial stories. Peach overhears me and arches an eyebrow as she passes. She's donned that sparkling pink dress and crown again. She looked happier in the dressing gown.

"Anything interesting in the news?" She gestures to the paper. "I know that paper only focuses on Mushroom Kingdom's affairs but Toadsworth has me subscribed to it. You're more than welcome to read the paper every morning. For some information and..."

She falters, and it's not from the lack of words. I accidentally startle her when I wheel round abruptly. My tail swings into a table leg. Her eyes widen in shock and she stumbles back a step for every one I take forward.

Why didn't I think of it earlier?

"_You can subscribe to papers?_" It comes out a bit too brash in my impatience.

"O-of course--" she stutters. "Any paper can be--"

"_I come from a place called Kanto_," I interrupt. I try to adopt a gentle tone, but I just sound strained.

Peach instantly takes advantage of my request, considering it as a small step towards friendship. "Are there any other--"

"_No._"

I cut across her again, but she doesn't flinch. I wait patiently for her answer.

"...I'll see what I can find."

It has been a while since I have requested anything. I always felt defeated whenever I did. To ask someone to do something for you is embarrassing and demeaning. Or so I thought. When Peach tells me she'll see what she can find, my words just slip out.

"_Thank you_."

It feels heartening to know you can rely on someone. Every day I think I have her figured, but every day she always manages to surprise me, one way or another.

"Erm..."

Nerves get the better of Peach and she fidgets with her fingers. We are met with a moment of awkward quietness. Our conversations always end like that - a half-finished sentence and a span of silence that's noisier than our voices ever were. However, she finds her tongue again and adds, "I will be in a meeting with some sponsors today. They're not happy with something Master Hand did so..."

She smiles, but it looks more like a grimace. "Going into that office is like entering a lion's cage sometimes. They complain and they vow to set Master Hand straight, but all he does is toss them an easy piece of meat and they forget what they were angry about. There are so many of us on this Mansion's board, but it's all for show. Master Hand's the ringleader - it's his circus, and we're just the animals he bids and bribes to do the entertaining."

We head down the stairs together, though I opt to keep a few feet's distance between us. We cross that familiar stretch of green without exchanging words until the last minute. When she says goodbye to me, I just snort. I regret not saying anything to her, for when she goes into the Mansion, she doesn't look the same anymore.

I had once put down her unhappiness to the inner workings of a spoilt princess, who simply couldn't be content with anything. But I watch her go now, and her arms are not folded out of haughtiness; she doesn't trudge up the stone steps thinking she deserves to be carried by someone.

I would have given an arm and a leg to have a reason to exist, or have a few guidelines pencilled in on the blank canvas. Some sketchy lines to tell me where I'm going. A few dabs of colour that would make each day a little easier to get through.

But then I look at her and how everything has been mapped out for her. From the moment that crown was placed upon her head, the moment she walked into Master Hand's shadow. There's no room for her to add her own creative streaks of colour.

When I can't see her anymore, I go to find a place to sit. I take a sudden turn (to avoid being spotted by Ganondorf) and head off down a sidewalk to the left. A few rectangles of half-walls are set into a patio, boxing in unkempt shrubbery. Ivy sneaks up the Mansion's bricked side and wisteria twists round a trellis. Though seemingly beautiful, on closer inspection these plants look ready to drop. Plants have curled and gone brown; the concrete slabs are littered with leaves that have given up. Several wooden chairs struggle to stay on their wonky, rotting legs. The empty circle they create suggests that there was once a table to accompany them. In this dying scene sits a large space suit.

I've seen this space suit around. It rarely moves outside of battle - it could almost pass as the Mansion's mannequin. You take it and arrange it into any position you like, and it will stay that way. Sometimes you see it stood in the corner of the living room, other times it leans against a kitchen counter uninterestedly. Or, like today, you see it perched on the half-wall, leaves and lifeless petals falling onto its bulky shoulders.

I hang around with this suit for a while, walking circles around the box and trying to hone my psychic in on Ganondorf and work out where he is. The suit sits still, refraining from moving any of its joints. Nobody passes through this deserted, poor excuse for a garden.

The suit moves when I'm taking my fifth lap round the shrubbery. A hand pulls on its helmet and it comes off.

It's no surprise to me that this suit conceals a woman - psychic picks up on things like that. Perhaps she was aiming to catch me off guard, though - I'm sure it's a trick that's meant to shock.

She seems satisfied with my lack of response. Her eyebrows crease a little and she asks, "...Lost?"

"_Hiding_," I correct her.

This one-word banter makes a smile tug at one corner of her mouth. She has the same miserable look in her eyes as Peach and me. It's obviously not uncommon.

"Me too."

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**E N D **

**M E W T W O**

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**A/N: He's being quite nice, eh? That's mainly down to Mewtwo's past haunting him (and who wouldn't want a bit of company when you're someone as lonely as he is?). That and him realising that he does have some things in common with Peach.**

**It's not the easiest of chapters to understand, I'll give you that. Mewtwo has a constant reference to 'they' from his past. I deliberately left out a direct giveaway to who they are in this fic, though if you put it in context it's really obvious. If it isn't, then...I need to work on my writing skills. **

**As I mentioned before, Peach's background is all made up for this fic, and Mewtwo's follows in this fashion since I'm not basing him off the movie much. **

**Feedback is greatly appreciated - I'd love to know your thoughts on this chapter. Thanks for reading, and see ya next time!**


	7. Peach: In which we realise

**A/N: After more than a month, I finally update with If You Let Me. Welcome back and many thanks to the kind people who left me a review! Eh...there isn't much to say about this chapter, but there's a hint of a plot starting to show regarding a certain warlock... :)**

**Anyhoo, enjoy!**

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**I F Y O U**

**L E T M E**

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**o-o-P E A C H-o-o**

**o-o-IN WHICH WE REALISE-o-o**

It's like running out of fuel.

It happens when you're least expecting it, but at the same time, a part of you has been waiting for it to happen all along. The sudden lightness of your whole body; how everything seems to be in slow motion. You're stranded in the middle of nowhere, wondering what to do about the sudden silence. If it's possible to get the car started again.

My father and I ran out of things to talk about before I even hit ten. We hid our mutual distrust for one another with excuses and pretending to be eternally busy. We covered the gaping wound with plasters, hoping it'd heal by itself. Eventually, the fact that we were tied by blood was not reason enough, and at the earliest opportunity, I turned my back on him and ultimately, my kingdom.

Mario met the same fate. It had become too much of a routine for both of us, saving and being saved. When you fall into a pattern, there's the danger of it becoming so concrete that there's no room for anything else. Conversation ran dry. While we are friends and keep it that way, a universe stands between us.

They both expressed their concerns for me - my father via Toadsworth, Mario face-to-face.

"Peach," Mario had said to me, "you're too trusting. Look at where that's taken you with Bowser. He kidnaps you and every time he does, you end up liking him more. You're a princess, Peach. You're stronger than that."

Mario is right, of course. He always is. I _am_ too trusting, too keen to see the world and its people the way I want to see it. The irony, however, is that I feel better around Bowser than I do Mario. I feel better around Mewtwo than I do my father.

When people do not have expectations of you, it's much easier to be yourself.

And with Bowser and Mewtwo, expectations don't exist and conversation never runs out.

"Unanswerable questions, let's go," Bowser says. We sit out on the front lawn, a small circle of lonely individuals. "If you stand on your head, which way is up?"

He's still exhausted from this afternoon's team matches. We all are. I had the tough combination of Fox and Zelda to battle, with Bowser as my teammate.

"Can you dig half a hole?" I contribute. To my left, Samus has her helmet jammed firmly on her head, and appears to have no intention of taking it off. She looks somewhat out of place, cold and aloof in the warm sunlight and grass. Then again, I think unhappily, who makes her out of place? Herself? Or the people here who exclude her?

"What colour is a mirror?" Bowser says next.

"_If a bad person pretends to be good all the time, can he be called bad?_" Mewtwo glances up from his newspaper, although his gaze never meets anyone else's. However, his eyes have a different tint to them, a different shape. The topic of conversation may possibly be interesting for him.

A few days back, Mewtwo had requested for me to subscribe to Kanto newspapers. Since then, he has never told me why. I used to think that he just wanted to be kept informed, but he always seems to be _looking_ as opposed to reading. He checks every page, from the headlines to the adverts, scouring the maze of words for something. Each day, however, he meets defeat.

We stay outside until the sun starts to set and the grass goes cold. It's astonishing, realising how much time we spent together, and how little it has done to bring us closer.

Bowser skulks off inside, and Samus gets to her feet with a metallic clunk. Otherwise, she is maintaining her silent streak. Mewtwo stands in her giant shadow, giving me the slightest trace of a glower when our eyes meet.

Samus branches off from us to go to the Mansion, while we head off to my castle. Mewtwo and Samus don't say goodbye to each other, but even in its absence, their silence speaks volumes. It means more to him than the hearty waves I always give him.

"Do you not need that anymore?" I point at the floating newspaper as we head back.

"_No_."

He hands the paper over and I make sure there's some distance between us before saying, "...Did it help at all?"

"_No_."

A few minutes of careful thought, and I try another question. "...Is there something in particular you're after?"

"_No._"

Years and years ago, I played this very same tactic against my father. Clipped, one-worded answers, the sulky glower reserved for him. Whenever he tried to speak to me, I'd pretend I hadn't heard or I'd override his voice with my singing. I only understand now, when Mewtwo is doing his version of this, how frustrating it must have been for my father, putting in so much effort and getting nothing out of it. How he couldn't win me over, yet my mother only needed to call my name.

"You don't act like this with Samus."

Jealousy and frustration courses through my veins, seeping through my body until it becomes an uncomfortable lump at the back of my throat. They are emotions I keep under wraps, but that doesn't mean that Mewtwo hasn't sensed them. He shoots me a stony glare, daring me to lose my temper.

The truth is, I hate Samus. I hate how little she does and says. She doesn't put in an ounce of effort, but Mewtwo follows after her when she goes training, sits with her when he wants company. Samus takes it all into her stride, and is probably only too grateful for a companion who isn't begging her to take off her power suit.

In comparison to Samus Aran, I am a joke.

Everything I do, she does with half the effort and double the result. She wins Mewtwo's trust without trying, without even wanting it.

"...At least you've found a friend," I say, hoping this will cover my real feelings of disappointment that the 'friend' isn't me. "I'm really glad about that."

"_You don't sound that way._"

No, I don't. He ought to be aware by now that he's not the only pretender around here. I contort my face without really knowing I'm doing it; after all, people who pretend do not like to be reminded that all they are is an act.

"...Shall we take the scenic route home?" I suggest.

"_I don't mind_," he replies flatly, and secretly, I think he means he doesn't care.

The 'scenic route' doesn't stray far from our usual walk, but there's a certain time to travel it. We keep close to the Mansion's grounds rather than heading straight out of the gates, doubling back and heading towards my castle from behind. The grass is a lot more wild and unkempt here; the gardeners tend to forget about the barren land between the two buildings. An old oak tree stands atop a small hill, and I come to a halt where its shadow ends.

"If you stand about here, you can watch the sun set over the middle of the lake. It's...really pretty," I finish lamely. He only gives me an uninterested glance. I've already prepared myself for his spiteful response, however, Mewtwo edges forward so that his toes scrape the tree's shadow. He's out of my eyesight, but he's well within my reach as he stands behind me.

"Here's an unanswerable question," I say gently, as though any noise will push him away. "...Can a sunset still be beautiful if no one's there to see it?"

"_Perhaps I could ask you something_."

I leap at the opportunity, the same way I always do. Swivelling round, I beckon with a hand for him to stand with me. "Of course you can! Fire away...I...I'd be more than happy--"

He doesn't move, but I notice his eyes don't look so hardened in this orange light.

"_I want an answer_," he says clearly.

"...I'll give you one."

"_Can you tell if someone's a murderer just by looking at them?_"

The absurdity of the question makes me smile a little. Or is the smile an act to hide my horror? I can't tell. Either way, I instantly regret doing such a thing, for Mewtwo's left eye twitches in annoyance and he looks past me.

"...There aren't any murderers here," I tell him gently. It's the first thing to come to my head, despite it being a sweeping - and very wrong - generalisation.

Mewtwo scoffs, but it's lacking the derision. I then think to myself on what grounds Mewtwo asked that question. It must be something that's been bothering him for some time. He could be talking about himself, but that doesn't bear thinking about. Mewtwo is many things, but he isn't a--

"_You said you'd give me an answer_."

I jump, pretend it didn't happen and think for a moment. "...Well...personally, I don't think you can."

He looks relieved. His neck muscles become lax and his shoulders sag a little. The corner of his mouth twitches, but it's so brief that it's probably a trick of the light.

"_...Right answer_," Mewtwo responds. "_I feel a lot better now._"

There is a significant pause, before he adds, "_And you're right. The sunset is very nice from here._"

I have never walked in his wake. He has always been the one to trudge behind me, but tonight, it is Mewtwo who leads me home. I watch him, eyes firmly on the sharp ridges of his shoulders.

How can you tell if someone is a murderer?

Are their eyes darker, their hearts barely beating?

I swallow, and my hands moisten with sweat. The sunset is the last thing on my mind, while Mewtwo studies it as he walks. Am I taking a murderer back home with me?

Toadsworth is doing his anxious jig when I come home. It's a habit even Mewtwo has started to pick up on, and the Pokemon's eyes reflect some amusement on seeing my nervous guardian.

"Welcome home, Your Highness," Toadsworth says (by default - I never hear him greet otherwise). "Two letters. I have left them in your room. One from your father. He was a tad angry with your lack of communication, and has asked me to tell you er...very forcefully...to get in--"

"The other letter?" I interrupt. Toadsworth shrinks back a little.

"...It's a note from Master Hand. A Smasher has scheduled a meeting not with him, but with you. For tomorrow, Your Highness."

I kick off my heels and a Toad runs forward to take them. I know better than to protest - if they don't do their job of spoiling me rotten, Toadsworth has to report it to my father, who has a reputation for changing his staff about as often as his socks.

"Why not Master Hand? He has far more authority than me."

That's only true to a certain extent. Master Hand has complete control of the Mansion and how it's run, but when it comes to Smashers, it's me who has the greater power. I say 'power', though it is more of a curse. As a Director, I cannot refuse an audience with anyone, not even--

"Ganondorf has put in this request to see you," says Toadsworth. Mewtwo looks up from where he stands by the stairs, curious.

I feel my heart turning into sand, thinning and filtering into a hopeless mound at the bottom of my stomach. For the two long years I've been Director, Ganondorf has never put in a request to talk with me. Never.

I swallow and must look scared out of my wits, as a nearby Toad whispers, "Are you okay, Your Highness?"

I want to say that I am, however, I know no one will believe me.

"I'm sure he just wants to talk about a Mansion problem," the Toad continues. She offers a smile, blissfully unaware of what Ganondorf is like. "...He probably felt you'd be easier to talk to. Your Highness, you are compassionate, kind...some matters require a gentle heart."

I force a smile onto my face and go upstairs. I exhale in comfort as my feet - now out of those heels - tread on the soft red carpet, and when I reach the landing and set off down a long corridor, my smile twists itself into a sneer.

"I don't think any of Ganondorf's matters require a gentle heart. He's out to get me about something or another," I grumble. Usually, I keep this sort of rant to myself, but I voice it today in the hopes that Mewtwo will listen and reply. He has been quite talkative lately after all.

Then, I realise how much of an idiot I am to say such a thing.

"_...What do you think he's after?_" Mewtwo walks in step with me. I glance at him once and look away only a second later. We both know the answer to that.

I touch the doorknob to my room. It's surprisingly warm from the sunlight that scrapes it. How many times is it now, I wonder absently, that I have gone into this room with him? Enough for it to be routine and be taken for granted? Or should I be counting the number of times I have left?

"_What is he after?_" Mewtwo repeats his question, but there isn't even a hint of anger or impatience.

"...You, probably," I admit. "Ganondorf would do anything to have you as his ally or minion...I wouldn't put it past Master Hand either, to spur on this battle between us."

The battle to have Mewtwo, that is. Ganondorf's search for power; my search for a friend. At the end of the day, though, it is up to Mewtwo to decide which one he values more.

I shut the door to my quarters and lean against it, gripping the handle, as though doing that will keep the thoughts of Ganondorf outside. Mewtwo, however, refuses to let the matter go.

"_Why does he need to talk to you then?_"

Because he knows that if he somehow makes me break the promises I've made to you, it'd ruin us both. You're smart and powerful and he _knows_ that, but he also knows your mind is confused and frightened to start trusting again. If he gets past whatever it is you hide behind, he can manipulate you and string you along as he pleases.

And he knows I'm all that's protecting you now.

"I'm not sure really, Mewtwo."

I wonder what it is that stops one from saying the truth. Discretion? Fear? Love?

Isn't it out of something inexplicable, something too great for words, that I stay at his side and look after him? That I put blind trust in him, even if he could be a killer? Even when no one can see what I can?

Mario was right all along. I _am_ too trusting. I am so trusting it's borderline stupid.

We fall into silence and Mewtwo takes it as a chance to sit under the piano and read again. He is a creature of habit, I decide. From his very first day as my Pokemon, he has made the piano his corner of my quarters. He has stacked books under the windowsill, ordered by their chronology. The single blanket he uses to keep himself warm at night sits by the curtain. At the foot of this, Mewtwo has hidden a pack of biscuits behind the burgandy folds - I came across them when he was spending his time outside with Samus, giving me free access to his corner. I remember putting the curtain back as carefully as possible, trying to hide evidence of my snoopery. It still stings me now, to think that Mewtwo would rather steal from the kitchens than take up my daily offers of breakfast.

Tonight, when I get ready for sleep and switch off all the lights, I opt to say goodnight not from the comforts of my bed, but right where he is. I bend down and duck my head under the piano.

"Sleep well," I murmur.

"_You're invading my personal space_," he replies. I am affronted, but it barely lasts a second as he continues. "_I live here now_."

****

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** E N D **

**P E A C H**

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**A/N: So it's pretty much established that Mewtwo is dropping subtle hints about being a murderer, and Ganondorf has scheduled a meeting with Peach. Of course, next chapter will be Mewtwo's take on all this. You may start to notice from now on that Peach's chapters are very central on her father, Toadsworth, Ganondorf and Master Hand. Mewtwo's chapters focus on Ganondorf and Samus, as well as a mystery new character who will shortly be joining the fray :) Hehe, I'll leave you to guess!**

Anyway, thanks for reading! Reviews are greatly appreciated - please review if you have any comments/feedback you'd like to share.


	8. Mewtwo: In which we look

**A/N: Hello and welcome back to If You Let Me! I took an awfully long time with this update, so apologies for that - I'm having a bit of trouble with Perfect, and I'm currently doing Fifteen Pairings as well, so eh...writing three fics at once isn't the most sensible of things to be doing...**

**There isn't much to say about this chapter until the end, so I'll just let ya read. I've introduced another key character to this, and I've also expanded the plot...but more about that later. Thank you to all who reviewed the previous chapter. Enjoy!**

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**I F Y O U**

**L E T M E**

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**o-o-M E W T W O-o-o**

**o-o-IN WHICH WE LOOK-o-o**

Today, I am asked a question that rips me from the inside out.

"What are you doing?"

Waiting to die, so that I can apologise for letting them down as their father and ask if they could ever forgive me.

"..._In general, or right now?_"

"Um...both?"

I look up to see who this audacious person is, finding the time and the courage to approach me. It's a human, and a tiny one at that. I've seen him around, never actually fought him, but like the other twenty Smashers or so, he hasn't spoken to me before.

"_Right now, I'm calculating the surface area of this pebble, if you must know._" I'm sat on dying grass, toes almost touching a gravel path.

"And in general?" the boy quizzes.

"_I won't tell you that, or else you may start to think I'm a morbid, deluded loner who's pessimistic at best, with a pathological need to torture himself over mistakes and the guilt pertaining to them._"

The boy looks unfazed, and I would've thought the words went way over his head, if it wasn't for the small smile of understanding. He flops onto the grass across me, so that we're stationed either side of the gravel path like stone guardians. He picks at a loose shoelace, and it seems to float between his fingers, as though the two are polar opposites. It's very simple psychic, but it's psychic nonetheless.

...Which goes to show how ignorant I've been ever since I started here. Three weeks have passed and I haven't noticed another with psychic abilities. I refused to pay attention to other Smash matches, did my best to ignore everyone else and aimed to get through days unnoticed. I only understand now how little it's done to help me.

"I thought you'd might like someone who'd talk to you...because no one really does."

Very observant. I scoff at his kind gesture, certain that he has another motive. He's right, though. No one should have to talk to a strange creature who causes discomfort wherever he goes. Someone like me is better off on his own; I say that, but being 'better off' might not be what I want.

"So...have you picked your partner for your Surprise match this afternoon?" the boy says, as though striking a conversation with me is the norm for him. "Bowser's probably gone for someone from top tier because he's a risk taker and--"

I cut him off with a small grunt, and he falters. I would've sent him away by now, but the fact that he is psychic lingers in my mind more than it should. It's rather pleasant, knowing that he's like me. When you're as lonely as I am, you start to search acquaintances and strangers alike, hoping you'll find a shred of yourself in them, proof of your existance to assure you that no matter how close you feel to one, you're not a ghost.

"..._Do you have a name?_"

The boy grins, as if I've asked him a silly question. He giggles awkwardly, unsure whether he should or not. "Silly," he replies, "_everyone_ has a name, you know. I'm Ness."

"_Ness?_" I repeat. I've never heard him mentioned in the Mansion. Perhaps he's as elusive and unimportant as I am. "_So...Ness. What were you saying prior to my interruption?_"

"The Surprise match, remember?" Ness answers promptly. "Master Hand chose you and Bowser today, didn't he? This is your first Surprise match, isn't it?"

I'm getting slightly annoyed with Ness' tendency to add question tags to everything he says. However, I'm in dire need of an explanation, since Master Hand was only too kind to leave me in the dark with this 'Surprise match'. All I know is that this morning, at 7.00 am sharp, he announced that Bowser and I had been chosen for today's Surprise match, and that we had until midday to choose our partners.

"It's a team match, basically," Ness elaborates. "You choose your teammate before the time limit and report it to Master Hand. Bowser does the exact same. You don't get to find out who Bowser picked until you're actually in battle, and he doesn't get to find out who you chose. The partners aren't informed until the last minute either. You don't get much time to talk tactics at all. That's why it's a 'surprise'."

I look past him at the Mansion, wondering if Master Hand is enjoying my struggles to get to grips with all this. It is nearly twelve, after all, and I haven't reported to him yet.

"There are catches to this, obviously," continues Ness. He sounds rather pleased, as if he has long waited for an opportunity to dish out these secrets. "There's the chance you and Bowser might pick the same Smasher. Say you both pick Fox, okay? Whoever reported to Master Hand first gets Fox as a teammate, and the other will get _no_ teammate. So it's up to you to risk choosing top tier or just choose your friend and hope for the best."

There is a significant pause as Ness waits for my response. I turn his words over in my head and a few seconds later, I reply, "_...It's risky to pick a top tier Smasher, then. On the other hand, choosing middle or low tier is safe but guarantees a loss in battle._"

"Mm-hm. Generally speaking, people go for top tier." Ness outstretches his legs again and they come to rest on the gravel. He's remarkably composed around me. "So it's best to pick your partner as soon as possible and report it to Master Hand. Smashers have tried to cheat in this before, like letting their partner know beforehand or striking deals with their opponent, but Master Hand always finds out and gives a punishment. That's why we just do as he says now. He has spies and eyes everywhere. Don't forget that, okay?"

I don't like adults who patronise, let alone little boys. However, Ness looks serious for once. His eyes darken, and he looks past my head.

"_Eyes? As in cameras?_"

But Ness shakes his head and corrects me. "As in real eyes. Smashers. The real purpose of Surprise matches is to remind us that the tier list is everything. We'll turn against each other to pick our partners and chase after the four top Smashers. We're putting the divide in the three tiers and pushing them apart with our own hands."

I have to look up to make sure it's actually him who's talking. How can a boy this young understand something like that?

"I spoke to Peach this morning. She's your trainer, isn't she? You're very lucky." Ness changes the subject. Apparently, the Mansion's mechanics is a little too depressing to talk about, but I have the feeling Ness only learned about it from Peach herself. My nose wrinkles at the mention of my master's name, not out of disgust, but embarrassment. I wish Ness wouldn't bring her up.

"She's nice, though, isn't she?" Ness smiles and tilts his head to the side, expecting me to agree. "I always talk to her instead of Master Hand, if there's a problem or something. I think everyone does, you know."

Including Ganondorf, I think grimly. There's something about that man that's unnerving, even for me. What's more unnerving is that I seem to unconsciously skew myself to be like him. He strikes me as a man who would never admit defeat; he'd never give up on himself the way I did. Every day, I aim to strike up a conversation with him or at least, be in his presence. My admiration of him does not go without a dash of fear, and the acknowledgment that it is far safer to have Ganondorf as an ally than an enemy.

"You really are lucky," Ness says again, stressing this baseless point with a happy nod. "Lots of Smashers would have left by now if it wasn't for her as our Director. She cares about us all, which is more than what Master Hand does."

"_That doesn't make me lucky._"

Ness seems to pick up on my lack of enthusiasm regarding Peach, for he tenses a little. He might think he's having no effect, however, a big part of me wants to believe that Ness tells nothing but the truth. I _am_ lucky, and I _do_ have someone who cares about me. I paste a smile onto my face; it hurts to do it while I'm in this state. It's believable, though. Ness brightens and leaps to his feet, motioning with his hands for me to do the same.

"Come on, Mewtwo! You only have ten minutes before it hits the deadline! You don't have a partner yet, do you?"

We go back to the Mansion together, Ness taking three steps to every one of mine. I try to ignore the comfort of walking with a child at my side, but it's not something I can disregard. To put no finer point on it, it feels nice.

I miss being a parent.

When we reach the main hall, various Smashers eye me curiously, waiting for me to give away my choice of partner with just a look. I spot Samus in the corner, by a bowl and pitcher, unmoving. Maybe that's a defiant pose she's struck, convinced that I'll pick her. Peach sits with a young girl in a parka, and when her gaze locks onto me, I pretend I don't notice. I still have to work out why at times, it's her eyes I struggle to meet over anyone else's.

I'm just about to exit the hall and head upstairs when I see Ganondorf in my peripheral vision. He sits on the sofa with his feet on the coffee table, plucking the prongs of a fork and counting the seconds idly. The look in his eye says it all. He is confident that I'll choose him as my partner; he's certain that I admire and value him over anyone else in here. Nothing comes between two immense bodies of power that wish for nothing more than to collide.

Ness waits on the stairs while I report to Master Hand. I don't mind being followed by him. Chances are, I'm using him to relive an old life I used to have. I don't pay much attention to Crazy Hand, who is the first thing I see when I enter. The giant hand spasms in the corner of the office with a strangled cry; his brother floats patiently at a window. I remember this room from when I first started, the redness of it and the choking atmosphere of hands and people playing tug-of-war with me.

"Hello there," Master Hand greets me pleasantly. "Cutting it very fine, I have to say. Now, tell me who have you picked for this afternoon's Surprise match."

"_Well..._" I begin, but Master Hand waves it off and points to a sheet of paper on the oak desk near a long window.

"I need it for the record," he explains. "Tick the box that corresponds to the Smasher you'd like as your partner. I trust you've reached a decision."

I stare at the list before finding the name I want. There are so many to choose from, and there are so many names there I can't put a face to. Who's Luigi? What does DK stand for?

I exhale, sneak a glance at Master Hand and, using psychic to grasp the pen, I tick a box.

* * *

No one is more surprised at my choice of partner than Ness himself. I'm on the sidelines with him, waiting to be transported to the designated map, Rainbow Ride. Our names have already come up on the big screen.

"I didn't talk to you this morning to try and persuade you to pick me." Ness is quick to leap to his defenses. "...I haven't warmed up because I didn't think either of you would choose me. Look, I haven't even done up my laces!"

He gets to one knee and sorts out a shoe, while I peer over the verandah we stand on. Today's crowd only seems to be Smashers and sponsors, but they are making a huge ruckus. I start my search for people I know. Samus hasn't bothered to remove her helmet, and she looks - as far as I can tell from her suited form - apathetic to my choice. Ganondorf sits in the middle row with a hand massaging a temple. He looks tired and disappointed, like a teacher let down by his most promising student. Peach, on the other hand, is smiling and laughing as a short man with a red cap talks to her.

The crowd appear to be enthusiastic about something, and I relay this observation to Ness.

"It's because of Bowser's partner." Ness points to the screen, standing on tiptoe. "Do you see? Bowser's picked Marth! He's Smash Mansion's number one."

A flash of anxiety crosses his face and he adds, "I'm bottom tier, so I'm not very good. You don't mind losing, do you?"

"_I'm at the bottom of bottom tier. You can't be worse than me._"

"_Every _newcomer starts in bottom tier. I've been here for two years and I haven't gone up a tier--"

"_I haven't won a single match._"

"But you're psychic!"

"_So are you!_"

I shoot him a disgruntled look, daring him to encourage me further, but it just makes him laugh. He aims a light kick at the gate's metal post and smiles at the dull ringing sound that emanates from it. "...Is that why you picked me?"

"_Yes,_" I lie. I don't think either of us want to hear the truth - that within minutes of meeting him, I'm trying to make him fill the hollow space and replace the family I once had, simply because he, as an intelligent psychic boy, fits perfectly.

He beams at my answer, and the psychic flows round his body restlessly. We talk tactics in the remaining minute, but we don't get anything covered. When the gates of the verandah open to let us on our platforms, we are taken to Rainbow Ride.

Marth is all smiles. As the Mansion's number one, this battle is sure to be easy. I know him by face as the popular one, the one surrounded by adoring fans and friends. Whenever I pass him in the Mansion, he has a whole entourage with him. While he isn't the most talkative or eloquent of people, Smashers and sponsors alike will fight to be in his company and hence, his glory. It's safe to say that he is Master Hand's meal ticket to making a fortune.

The saccharine music of Rainbow Ride begins, and we launch into battle. Well, Bowser does, at least. He charges at me while Marth hangs back in an attempt to draw Ness to him. I guess Bowser and Marth need the victory because they're middle and top tier respectively and consequently, have a reputation to keep. Bottom tier Smashers don't need to worry about winning, since there's never a chance to.

However, within seconds, I have Ness' style - or lack of it, should I say - completely analysed. He flounders along the map, conjuring up a combination of physical and psychic attacks. And just seeing his carelessness rouses the strangest sensation of annoyance and concern in me. I push myself forward, take Bowser into a psychic hold and stop the Koopa from dealing any more damage to Ness.

"_Concentrate_," I snap, and Ness nods obediently. Marth breaks into a run, and his agility surprises me a litte. Perhaps it's because the rest of us are far from nimble.

This will be the first match I take seriously, I think wryly. This match will be the first where my mind and body will work together, where I _will_, somehow, find a way for us to win.

I leave Bowser to Ness. Granted, I would've liked to take out my frustrations on that Koopa myself, since I recently found out he has eight children, all of whom couldn't be more proud of their father. Jealousy is a strong emotion, enough for a broken, accepting being like me to snap without warning. However, there's something irritating about Marth that I can't put my finger on. His success? His obvious happiness here? His name, and how it rolls off everyone's tongue like a torrent of liquid gold?

Bowser knocks into me in an unexpected attack, and Marth squeezes in a few hits. Ness creates a column of fire, and he smiles at me and says, "Concentrate."

I do. I really do, and loopholes and flaws jump out at me like scarlet against white. Marth's a habitual edge guarder; he's counter-happy. Bowser's so easy to juggle; his recovery's poor. It doesn't take me long to realise that with these facts, alertness and pure motivation, you don't need much else to be 'number one'.

"That's clever!" Ness remarks fervently, as I trick Marth into countering, grab him and throw him upwards. He sails out of sight, and the teasing taste of victory is as refreshing as one's first bite of breakfast, with the promise that more's to come.

I make use of my shadow ball numerous times; they hinder Marth's charge attacks and do well to increase damage. When Ness displays his unique recovery of a self-inflicted psychic burst, I have to restrain the urge to smile. Watching another person use psychic really puts the skill into a unique perspective.

The crowd begins to fall into a steady, almost sadistic rhythm of cheering. They gasp when Marth takes a hit, they cheer when he lands a blow. There's applause when Ness flies out the boundaries, and the rumbling noise of laughter pierce my ears whenever I get caught in Marth's combos. I block out the sound, though, and I hope that Ness is doing the same.

As the seconds count down to zero, I squeeze in a final KO: I dodge past Marth, who edge guards the end of the ship, double back on him and throw him over my shoulder just as his sword attack finishes. In the eyes of the audience, I'm a cheat and a disappointment, and they voice this in a groan.

"Time up!" Master Hand shouts.

The safety barrier drops and all the pain accumulated from the match hits me in an instant. Ness exhales loudly, dropping his baseball bat on the ground at his feet and flexing his fingers. His laces are undone again.

"Ness and Mewtwo win..." Master Hand says with half the enthusiasm he usually has. I'm not surprised - the crowd's applause is punctured and theoretically, Master Hand has let them down. Neither Bowser or Marth look pleased on losing to two bottom tier Smashers. In fact, Marth looks uncharacteristically ugly, with his nose and mouth twisted and a line between his eyebrows. A sulky Smasher like him probably deserves to have his reputation tarnished.

A few seconds too late, the Smashers and sponsers begin to applaud, although this polite gesture is annulled by the bewildered looks on their faces.

"You won against _Marth_," Ness whispers to me. His rucksack knocks against my thigh, and it is only then that I become aware of how close he is. "Hey, when Master Hand sets up the free team matches, you have to be my partner, okay?"

I nod absently. Master Hand gives a pointed cough and motions for us to leave the stage, as though we're too terrible to look at. Behind him, in the cluster of people, Samus claps her left hand onto her gun arm, applauding. A few seats across is Ganondorf, who settles back in his seat and wears a look of approval and triumph, as though he never doubted me in the first place.

But my eyes take me to Peach, who's clapping so hard and so quickly it's likely to be burning her palms. And I think to myself that that's enough. Even if everyone else was booing and shouting their hate, her clapping and her enthusiasm would have been enough to make me feel some worth.

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**E N D **

**M E W T W O**

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**A/N: Enter Ness! I know he gets bashed a lot in this fandom, but I adore the little guy. I mean, a psychic buddy is just what Mewtwo needs! And I'm sure Ness could do with a father figure or a friend or something. Anyway, for the observant ones, you'll notice I've changed this fic's summary. I've tweaked his fic's plot to give it a bit more body, since Peach and Mewtwo's relationship isn't going to be enough to fuel it. Ganondorf and Ness play central roles now, and Samus will too, although she isn't going to be based on Perfect's Samus (the reason being that fic is waaaay too angsty to be part of this).**

**In addition, I may up the rating, or keep it at a very high T, depending on how it goes. It's looking to be a dark and dramatic fic... **

**Comments and feedback are greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading!**


	9. Peach: In which I'm convinced

**A/N: Here we go with Peach's take. Unfortunately, I tend to make things miserable for Peach, and this chapter is no different. On the other hand, there's a hint of a plot coming in now, perhaps one which will serve as a device to make our protagonists get along...**

**Many thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I realise this update's extremely late, but what can I say...I don't like this fic...or writing it...and the fact that people are still reading is the only motivation I have! So thanks again for your kind words. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint (too much...)**

**Disclaimer: Characters and settings are copyright to Nintendo. **

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**I F Y O U**

**L E T M E**

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**o-o-P E A C H-o-o**

**o-o-IN WHICH I'M CONVINCED-o-o**

My office is, as Toadsworth puts it, 'so friendly it's suffocating'. When I was assigned as Director of Smash Mansion, my first thought was to create a place of support and comfort, a real home for a place that was anything but. I threw out the austere desk and wooden chair without a moment's hesitation; I furnished it with armchairs and cushions, antique ornaments and blown up photos of stellar moments in Smash history.

Files on each and every Smasher sit in a glass cabinet behind me, containing information from winning streaks and moveset data to their psyche and what their favourite colour is. This library of needless knowledge is testament to the control I exert over the Mansion. If need be, I can look up a Smasher, extract the right information and use it to swing the outcome of matches and write their destinies for them. It is my duty, as Director, to be the enforcer of Master Hand's utopia, a world where there are more strings than people.

I am the right hand woman to the right hand himself.

And no matter how much I try to worm my way out of his giant grasp, I slink back to this prison, so as to try and take my Smashers with me. This compassion, this kind heart my mother brought me up to have, is what Master Hand loves about me.

At four 'o' clock, I'm curling my toes into the carpet of my office. I tap a pen against the edge of my desk rhythmically without thinking, shifting in my seat and chewing my lower lip. Three minutes pass and still, Ganondorf hasn't turned up. As the wait begins to eat at me, I suspect that he is deliberately making a late entrance so that I can feel this way.

It's ten past four when he knocks. I wriggle my feet back into my heels, pull on my gloves and a few seconds too late, open the door to Ganondorf.

"Oh."

It's all I can say. Rehearsed greetings turn tail and run just as I fall into his shadow.

He quirks an eyebrow. "You look surprised to see me. I did book."

"Oh no, not surprised," I stammer. _Disappointed maybe_, I think. Nevertheless, I step back and welcome him into the office with what I hope is a professional wave of the hand. I push my amounted nerves out of my mind, remember who I am - the powerful, right hand woman to Master Hand - and sit down at my desk.

"It slipped my mind that you had booked." I figure sounding busy is worth a try; he might fall for it. "I completely forgot you had requested to see me."

I'm sure Ganondorf knows that he's not the sort of person people forget about. He sees through my paper-thin lie, or more precisely, he acts charitable and pretends I never said such an embarrassing thing.

I jiggle the pencil in my hand and say, "So, what can I help you with?"

He sinks into the warmth of the armchair, apparently wanting to take his time. I feel like telling him I don't have all day, but that's the catch to being Director. You _do_ have all day to listen to your Smashers, promise to solve their problems and make life as enjoyable as a prison can permit. It's your job to pry their curious hands away from the real Mansion, pull the wool over their wide eyes and pretend that everything's all right and there's no happier place than here.

When Ganondorf speaks, I'm pulled out of my miserable reverie about as kindly as a fish out of water with a hook through its mouth. "I found this, and thought you might know who it belongs to."

And as though we're playing a friendly game of catch, he tosses me the Master Ball. It feels cold and unusually heavy in my grasp. It is smeared with mud and dried grass, but the M glistens as bright as ever, protruding through the dirt.

"...Yes, thank you," I reply, setting the Ball aside. "That would be mine."

His eyes flash at the last word. "He's yours, is he?"

He drums his fingers against his knees and the back of his head sinks into the backrest. He fills out most of the seat; his right hand, the one emblazoned with part of the Triforce, has the armrest in a mighty grip - almost like a head he longs to crush.

"He won a match at last. Did you see how he changed as soon as he became focused?"

When Ganondorf ask questions, time itself seems to bend to his will. Everything falls into a slow, slumbering pace as he awaits my answer. The seconds become minutes in a drowsy attempt to coax me into talking. I try to read into his words, identify a hidden meaning.

"He's finding his confidence again. I didn't help in any way," I choose to reply. If Ganondorf wants me to try and take credit for Mewtwo's accomplishment, he will have to go about it another way. I feel a burst of confidence of my own; I have him and his reasons for coming all figured. That is, until he cracks the tiniest smile and destroys my esteem like a pin to a balloon.

"I'll ask again." He sounds unusually patient. "Did you see how he changed, Princess?"

Warily, I rewind to the match from earlier today. In all honesty, the change in Mewtwo was about as obvious as a splash of blood on a white shirt. I saw it, most certainly. How he suddenly moved like the wind, how his eyes flashed as though in pain. The moment that match had begun, Mewtwo had become a shadow of his former self.

"His strength is incredible," Ganondorf continues, and he now speaks with admiration, though I have yet to figure out his sincerity. "He knew that greatness once, until something happened to him that made him lose it."

Mewtwo made a mistake, I recall. He said he had done something wrong prior to coming to this Mansion. But what was it?

And is that mistake, the one that robbed Mewtwo of his strength and confidence, what Ganondorf is looking for?

"I don't know what happened to him." I talk levelly in an attempt to dash Ganondorf's hopes of getting anything out of me.

"You misunderstand me." Ganondorf leans forward a little, and by instinct, I shrink back. "I asked about his strength. It's astounding, and he hasn't even begun. Mewtwo lives and breathes power."

His eyebrows furrow together. "Does that sound like a pet to you?"

It's an odd sensation, knowing that there's no way you've shrunk in such a small space of time, but feeling as if everything has doubled in size except for you. My chair feels just that little bit bigger; my desk a few millimetres further. I start to blink rapidly; the sheer pressure of trying to keep in step with Ganondorf is stinging my eyes and burning my lips.

"Mewtwo isn't my pet," I tell him clearly. I want to ask where he got that idea from, as I have never done anything to enforce that statement. True, he is my charge and I care for him, but the crucial difference between a pet and Mewtwo is that the latter is sentient, hates me and is pretty much capable of killing me on the spot.

"He's not your pet." Ganondorf is not clarifying, more so drilling this statement into me as if he is a hypnotist. "He is an ally. A partner who will prove invaluable. With such power under your command, it would be a mistake to let it go to waste."

"A mistake, or a crime?" I answer. As Ganondorf gradually reveals his intentions, my anxiety grows, but not without a newfound burst of audacity. It's terrifying to come head to head with Ganondorf, but the experience is more manageable when _what_ we're coming to blows at is clear. "What do you want with me?"

"I'm just asking you to rethink your position." Ganondorf shrugs, acting as though he is doing me a favour. "You are the most powerful person to walk in this Mansion. You have a crown atop your head, the wax seal of the Smash Board in your front pocket and the world's strongest creature in the palm of your hand. Imagine what you could do with such influence."

He gets up, and I nearly jump from the abruptness. I end up gripping the desk's edge and then sliding my clenched hands into my lap to hide them from view. Ganondorf studies the wall to my right, hands behind his back.

"Think about what you can do from now. Those moments up there, those snapshots of the greatest events in Smash history; the pictures that adorn the walls and the minds of every Smasher. You could make it end."

There are four glossy photos in my office, arched on the wall in a semicircle. Each one has a gold plaque with curly text to caption the scene. One is a group photo of the Mansion's top tier, another a shot of runner up Fox McCloud's infamous spike. The third is Marth with last year's tournament cup and the last is a dynamic shot of Falco Phantasm. I usually refrain from looking at the pictures because as admiring as they are, not one of the Smashers in top tier - myself included - look remotely happy.

Ganondorf scrutinises me, not bothering with tact. "It's in your power to do so. You long for us all to be free, don't you?"

The way he tosses in a leading question startles me. It's an age-old method in the war of words, a sly tactic to shape another's way of thinking. What surprises me more, though, is how well he gets it to work. I fall for it, hook, line and sinker.

"Of course...I know the Mansion can feel somewhat restricting."

Ganondorf smiles at the understatement. I have to glance up to see this, and as he towers over me, I only just notice how there is virtually no escape from him. I'm trapped behind my desk, and the door looks miles away.

"I don't think you have much faith in yourself," Ganondorf guesses correctly. "You feel worthless standing next to Master Hand; you know you're a figurehead to do his bidding. But you have Mewtwo now, surely you can snap a few strings? We're all caught up, after all."

He makes a soft, snorting noise, rapping his knuckles against the frame of Marth's photo. "Except for him, the favourite."

I survey Ganondorf over steeped fingers, tensing every muscle in my body to quell my shivers. "Really, I think Marth is the most tangled."

"Perhaps," Ganondorf replies, and he sounds so polite that for a second, I forget I'm afraid of him. It all comes back, though, with double the amount and intensity, when Ganondorf seizes the group shot of top tier and slaps it onto the desk, facing me. He puts no strength in the gesture, but the glass still breaks from his steady grip and a crack runs a jagged path down the photo.

"Use him for the greater good." Ganondorf nudges the picture forward. "It's what he's here for."

I watch as top tier break apart. The crack spreads and slices Fox cleanly across his neck, divides Falco's face into two and rips through Marth's rippling cape. My own face in that capture distorts, one half forced upwards by the cracked glass.

"You have the wrong idea about me." My jaw hardens in determination; Ganondorf very nearly breaks into a smile. "...I agree with you about wanting to make this Mansion better, but there are some boundaries I will not cross. I'd never take advantage of Mewtwo or use him."

I recoil as I await his response. However, he surprises me with a favourable shrug and turns to leave, unruffled.

"All right then," he replies. He opens the door and pauses on his way out, looking over his shoulder. "Though it'd be in your best interest to consider it."

He shuts the oak door with unmistakeable triumph. The effect of his leaving is immediate. I exhale loudly, such that I disturb some of my papers. The room lifts and I remember how to breathe again, yet the cold air smells foreign, too fresh and too comforting to be right. Slumped at my desk, only vaguely aware of how close my forearm comes to the sharp glass of the photograph, I watch the slivers of light from between the blinds that flicker on the carpet.

Minutes pass as I let idle thoughts wash over me, ranging from what Ganondorf meant by 'best interest' to why my office felt so aloof despite my efforts. I play around with daydreams, imagining a Mansion free of constraints, where top tier were not on a pedestal, and Master Hand on a higher one. I think about turning the plans inside out, throwing a spanner in the works.

Wouldn't it be great if the underdog won this year? Wouldn't it be something for the Smash Tournament actually _be_ a tournament, instead of a glorified, closet route for Master Hand to make his fortune and sate his lust for control?

I'm considering it.

Even when I don't want to, I'm thinking about what Ganondorf has said. It's like he's left me a problem, intentionally unsolved and tantalising, so that I have no choice but to think about it, so as to end my pain. So that when I find the answer and see it through, it'll be my own doing and he plays no part.

I kick off my shoes and am about to make myself a cup of tea, when the door opens for a second time. I find myself instinctively praying for it to not be Ganondorf, and I'm spared. Mewtwo ambles inside awkwardly, his eyes set on the window. He seems so determined to not acknowledge me that it prompts me to break into a smile. The very action aches and feels tight, as if it's a thing I've long forgotten to do.

"Well done on your match today," I begin. He merely grunts and settles on the floor in the dying afternoon sun. He says nothing for a moment, before prompting me.

"_And?_"

"Ganondorf has big plans for the Mansion. The general gist is that he wants me to rebel against Master Hand and use you in...some way or another. I'm not sure on that part," I admit.

"_He's trying to breach his contract. We're all bound by a supernatural force as soon as we sign up, presumably from Master Hand. The contract states that release from the tournament comes in three ways - by death, by public demand or by word of the Mansion. The first is out of the question, the second is a sham - since Master Hand can interpret the public however he likes - and the third is the viable option._"

Mewtwo finally glances up to look at me. "_By word of the Mansion,_" he repeats. "_'Mansion' is a collective term for the building itself, the tournament and the one who runs it - Master Hand. Now, imagine if someone were to overthrow him and take his place. She'd have the lives of Smashers in her hands, and the power to let them go with a simple word._"

I realise my finger is bleeding. At some point, I have cut it on a shard of glass. It only stings a little; I dab at it with a tissue, suddenly aware of how much my hands are shaking.

"_The key to overthrowing lies in cutting off resources and swinging the favour to your end of the court. Since Master Hand relies heavily on make up of top tier and current champion, that would be the first point of call._"

"Sabotage the tournament?" I say faintly. Hearing it out loud makes it infinitely worse. Would I dare do such a thing when I'm just a figurehead?

"_Yes_," Mewtwo responds. "_You can assume that Master Hand's goal, having earned heavy influence over Altea with Marth's win, will go for another winner this year. Fox McCloud looks favourable with an admirable reputation and plenty contacts in Lylat. Chances are that his sponsors and Lylat officials have made a deal with Master Hand - power in Lylat, and the tournament cup for Fox McCloud._"

It's the longest conversation we've ever had. Mewtwo is surprisingly at ease, talking to me (despite preferring to look out the window than meet my eyes). I can't help but wonder what his take is on the absurd plan we're all formulating.

"_Consider a scenario when this goes wrong_," he continues. "_The tournament is sabotaged and someone else wins. The people involved in the scam will be disappointed to say the least. Imagine the public uproar if the favourite, Marth, is demoted, Fox comes second and someone else wins - someone unpopular, uncharismatic and without useful connections to break Master Hand's fall from grace._"

He gets up and slinks round the table to face me. His tail narrowly misses a mini cabinet, so close to rattling it that I'm convinced he can see out the back of his head as well as unravel Ganondorf's intentions as easily as a ribbon.

"_The question is_," he concludes plainly, "_would you do it?_"

"O-of course not!" I shrink back, noting that Mewtwo is on par with Ganondorf when he stands opposite me like this. "Going along with Ganondorf's plan when he hasn't revealed all of his intentions is far from sensible. And I'd never use you that way. It's my duty to keep you safe, from both Ganondorf and my selfish whims."

He stares at me, unblinking, trying to find a lie in what I say. Then, apparently satisfied, he snorts and moves his head from side to side, stretching his neck.

"_What if I agreed?_" he suggests. "_You're hardly using me if I comply_."

"Even so--"

"_It'd be more selfish to not use me. You have the chance to set this Mansion free and you're not taking it. Why not?_"

He poses the question as a challenge, daring me to answer. For a few seconds, I admire the passion, the way his voice is rougher and the sharp crease between his eyes. Afterwards, I wonder _why_ he has become so self-sacrificing. Ganondorf's motives are now clear, but what about Mewtwo's?

And as if he is reading my mind, he says, "_At the moment, I have nothing to do. There's no purpose to me being here except to have a master and hide. I want more than that._"

"That's it?" I can't help but blurt out. Has his indifference always stemmed from a deep desire to mean?

"_That's it,_" he repeats. His eyes widen for a fraction of a second. "_But it's enough. Perhaps you're lucky. Perhaps you don't know how it feels to wake up every day and wonder why you did._"

He licks his lips, walks over to the window and gingerly, as if afraid of punishment, looks out of it. I watch as the translucent shadows of the blinds creep over him, and something dangerously close to empathy wells in me. I decide to not tell him that I am far from lucky, and that I know exactly how it feels to be empty and just an insignificant dot in the wide world.

**-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

**E N D **

**P E A C H**

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**A/N: Ta da! A plot at last! I'm always writing fics about overthrowing Master Hand - it's this thing where I can't see the Mansion and tournament as anything but a torture house. Mewtwo's motives are a bit vague here on purpose, because it's his chapter next and obviously that will delve into it a bit more. I'm really hoping I did Ganondorf justice - I really enjoyed writing him but it's no good if I didn't pull it off XD**

**As always, reviews are greatly appreciated for this sorry excuse of a fanfic. They're all that keeps me going with this story because after a while, writing IYLM hurts my head with all the mind games going on. -glares at Ganondorf and Mewtwo-**

**Thanks for reading!**


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